tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72425618074761294862018-09-17T02:21:56.093-05:00Lace Your Days With HopeYou have the right to remain silent.......But I don't recommend it.
Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.comBlogger232125LaceYourDaysWithHopehttps://feedburner.google.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-45343739824818004612016-02-13T12:09:00.000-06:002016-02-13T12:09:23.098-06:00So, I Exploded a Cake Pan........<span style="font-size: large;">Live and learn.......this concept will never get old for you, and you can take my word on that. &nbsp;I speak only from my personal experience.</span><script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-22071187-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); </script><br /><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Last week I had not only my own boys to feed but a couple of others that were traveling through. &nbsp;Well, maybe not boys.....men. &nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">A quick trip to the store to get the makings for spaghetti got us home just in time for the guys to start watching the Superbowl. &nbsp;This left me in the kitchen alone, which has always been fine with me due to the peace and quiet. &nbsp;Plus I always learn so much from hearing males talk when they think no female is listening. &nbsp;If you know what I mean. &nbsp;Ahem.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I had made a lemon cake in a glass 9x13 pan that was sitting on the stove. &nbsp;I had planned to make a jello cake out of it with raspberry jello and throw some whipped cream on top. &nbsp;This is a method that works for everyone regardless of age, gender, or diet, from my past experiences. &nbsp;To my regret, I had not gotten the jello mixed up and added and had it in the refrigerator already.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">In my hurry to get water boiling for spaghetti and&nbsp;simultaneously&nbsp;get an onion chopped up to add to the meat, I&nbsp;inadvertently&nbsp;turned the front burner on instead of the back burner. &nbsp;In my defense, the pot I was going to boil the water in was a stockpot, so I couldn't really see which burner I was turning on due to the height of the stockpot. &nbsp;I know this not a good defense but it's the only one I have.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I was chopping my onion, timing myself and worrying about such a big pot of water taking too long to boil, when I smelled a funny smell. &nbsp;Kind of a burning smell, but as I could see everything on the stove, had nothing in the oven, and rarely doubt myself, did not stop to investigate further.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">This was my mistake. &nbsp;Go ahead and doubt yourself. &nbsp;Double check, even. &nbsp;Just do.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">A few seconds later, the glass cake pan exploded all over hell and creation, sending both square safety glass pieces and shards in all directions as well as freeing the cake, which was already burnt black on the bottom, to rest on the burner with no barrier and smoke quite impressively. &nbsp;I tell you this so that you can avoid it, but it also occurs to me that it is an excellent, last resort way in which to get everyone's complete, undivided attention. &nbsp;I just hope your life never leads you to this point, but you never know.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">My first thought was that someone had shot at us and hit the cake pan. &nbsp;I will blame that on shock........lol &nbsp;There was complete silence not to mention no movement for 5 full seconds while we all just stared in shock.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The next hour or so was spent trying to clean up glass all over the floor and stove top without disturbing anything that was cooking and carefully checking the meat for shards of broken glass.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">One flying piece of glass did&nbsp;graze one shin with little damage and only one shard got stuck in my finger during clean up. &nbsp;This was removed by one of my Babies, who has good enough vision to still see. &nbsp;How will I ever live without them and their good eyes???</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">By the time I got supper on the table it was half time. &nbsp;The rest of my evening was spent with an LED light in the dark kitchen tracking down glass shards. &nbsp;Not that I minded missing the game, if I need to say that.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Since then I have mopped and gone over the floor on my hands and knees several times, but have yet to move out the stove and tackle all the glass in the crack between the stove and the counter. &nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I continue to tell everyone to leave their shoes on, with some success except for the more stubborn individuals who will just have to learn their own lesson. &nbsp;Probably.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">More importantly, I have had to endure much ribbing about how you have to watch me because I exploded the cake pan. &nbsp;I guess I will never live that one down, but again, <i>that is how memories are made. </i>I am certain no one who witnessed this will ever forget it, to my eternal embarrassment. &nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">So I exploded <b>one </b>thing, <b>one</b> time, in all these years.........</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">As my mother would say, "Oh well".</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I told them it was meant as a lesson. &nbsp;Sadly, they are all too old to believe this.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The moral of the story is: <b>pay attention,</b>&nbsp;for no amount of time saved while multi-tasking will ever make up for all the time you will spend on your knees afterward, should you forget. &nbsp;And I hope you don't! &nbsp;Learn from my mistakes, people!</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">What I learned was that glass pans can even explode. I must admit, I did not even know that was possible. &nbsp;But hey, maybe it wasn't in the world I grew up in. &nbsp;No doubt this cake pan was made in China! In any even, now I know what I did not know before.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Just to show them, those whom have teased me about this for a solid week now, I haven't made them any cake, jello or otherwise. &nbsp;That'll show 'em. &nbsp;heh heh heh.......</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Just had to share that, for your own good. &nbsp;Safe cooking to you all, and be safe in there!</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/L4TVC6ojzik" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2016/02/so-i-exploded-cake-pan.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-61992537162710153232015-12-19T22:39:00.000-06:002015-12-19T22:40:23.275-06:00Finding What I Wasn't Looking For..............<span style="font-size: large;">Sorry it's been so long, for the few of you who follow this blog. &nbsp;It's been quite a year, and I will probably blog about it in the future, but not today.&nbsp;</span><script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-22071187-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); </script><br /><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Today we made a mad dash to the garage to look for Christmas tins. I've been busier than I normally like to be for a while now, and haven't done much in the way of Christmas other than buying and <strike>throwing stuff in Wal Mart bags</strike>&nbsp; wrapping presents. &nbsp;Oh, and I put up the wreath. &nbsp;That's it. &nbsp;That's been my preparation. &nbsp;I kind of miss putting up the ornaments, but I just got them out and looked at them last weekend and was satisfied. &nbsp;We don't have room for a tree other than the little one with lights that I did not bring in from the garage today. &nbsp;I've been sick. &nbsp;And tired. &nbsp;Sick and tired, and &nbsp;that it is no doubt part of why what happened next hit me so hard.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">During the search, My Youngest Baby found his Christmas stocking. &nbsp;Joy registered on his face followed immediately by concern if not fear when he realized it was dirty. &nbsp;He turned to me and held it out, asking if it would be all right with fear and hesitancy in his eyes. &nbsp;I told him that it would, and that I would wash it. &nbsp;He seemed relieved that it would be all right, and then pressed me as to whether or not I was going to hang up their stockings this year. &nbsp;These stockings were knitted by my children's great-great aunt Ada and are the only stockings they have ever hung up. &nbsp;There it was, a bit bedraggled but waiting for us. &nbsp;It knew we would come. &nbsp;We have never failed it, not one single time.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I said "Of course I am!" and managed not to cry until I got to the privacy of my bathroom and there I had my own little grieving session.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">This is the twin's last year at home, as far as I know. &nbsp;They are 18, and will graduate in 5 short months and go out into the world and have wonderful lives, which is all very well and good. &nbsp;I <b>want</b> them to! &nbsp;I swear!! &nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">But.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I will be lucky to ever have them at home again, like <i>it used to be.......</i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I know this because this is not my first rodeo. &nbsp;I know this because the last year and a half has been defined by change and upheaval and wondering what the future holds. &nbsp;I know this because getting my four children together at the same time has already become a pretty nice trick. &nbsp;I know this because to live is to change, those are pretty much the rules of the game.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">What I did not know was how much it meant to him (my last, the one that needed the most for the longest, the one who has bloomed into a young man at ease with himself) that his stocking was put up. &nbsp;Still, l<i>ike it used to be</i>. &nbsp;Like it always has been. &nbsp;On the outside he looks like a man, but inside my little boy still exists, peeking out at me on occasion. &nbsp;How I miss that child.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">If you live long enough, and I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, you will realize that eventually Christmas becomes a crap shoot, emotionally speaking. &nbsp;It can be as bitter as it is sweet. &nbsp;Lots of your memories will be of people who you love just as much, but have already passed, and the ache can be borne, <b>must</b> be borne, but the ache is added to. &nbsp;Almost every year, it gets added to. &nbsp;Another thing that has become clear to me in this last year or so is that I have reached the age where I am going to keep losing people. &nbsp;It&nbsp;inevitably&nbsp;happens, and don't we all know this? &nbsp;In our minds? &nbsp;Yes, of course! &nbsp;But there will come a day, eventually, when it dawns on you that you need to get used to it. &nbsp;There is not even an "if you can" attached to that thought. &nbsp;It's kind of brutal, but fear not, you will be pretty numb and it won't hurt that much. &nbsp;You will be "resolute".</span></div><div><div class="vk_ans" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif-light, sans-serif; font-size: xx-large !important; font-weight: lighter !important; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span data-dobid="hdw">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;res·o·lute</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><div class="lr_dct_ent_ph" style="font-size: large;"><span class="lr_dct_ph">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; ˈrezəˌlo͞ot/</span><span class="lr_dct_spkr lr_dct_spkr_off" data-log-string="pronunciation-icon-click" jsaction="dob.p" style="display: inline-block; height: 16px; margin: 0px 2px 4px 5px; opacity: 0.55; vertical-align: middle; width: 16px;" title="Listen"><input height="14" src="data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAAA4AAAAOCAQAAAC1QeVaAAAAi0lEQVQokWNgQAYyQFzGsIJBnwED8DNcBpK+DM8YfjMUokqxMRxg+A9m8TJsBLLSEFKMDCuBAv/hCncxfGWQhUn2gaVAktkMXkBSHmh0OwNU8D9csoHhO4MikN7BcAGb5H+GYiDdCTQYq2QubkkkY/E6CLtXdiJ7BTMQMnAHXxFm6IICvhwY8AYQLgCw2U9d90B8BAAAAABJRU5ErkJggg==" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;" type="image" width="14" /></span></div><div><div class="lr_dct_sf_h" style="padding-top: 10px;"><i>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; adjective</i></div><div aria-hidden="true" class="xpdxpnd vk_gy" data-mh="-1" style="color: rgb(135, 135, 135) !important; max-height: 0px; overflow: hidden; transition: max-height 0.3s;"><b></b></div><ol class="lr_dct_sf_sens" style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 20px;"><li style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.2; list-style: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div class="lr_dct_sf_sen vk_txt" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif-light, sans-serif; font-weight: lighter !important; padding-top: 10px;"><div style="margin-left: 20px;"><div class="_Jig" style="margin-left: -20px;"><div data-dobid="dfn" style="display: inline;">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; admirably purposeful, determined, and unwavering.</div></div></div></div></li></ol><div><span style="line-height: 15.6px;"><br /></span></div></div><div><br /></div></div></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Okay, your <i>goal </i>will be to be "resolute". &nbsp;Good luck. &nbsp;It's a tricky little dance but the steps will come to you when you need them the most. &nbsp;May you dance right through it. &nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">My thoughts of late have been heavily filled with memories of my children when they were little. &nbsp;Crystal clear in my mind, right down to how their necks smelled like........ and how they felt against my chest as I held them close to me and kissed them there......... what they looked like asleep............... and funny things they said. &nbsp;I guess it's my way of soaking in this last year before the nest is empty. &nbsp;I don't know who I would be without them, and I needed this reminder. &nbsp;On my "cry-y" days, as I call them, I despair that the mother they remember is the one who "nagged" them about their room, or a job, and they never remember, or can even know how much I loved them, sacrificed everything, cleaned and nursed and coached and sometimes scared other people to death in defense of them. &nbsp;Basically I have felt like I've been left alone with my memories, but only on the "cry-y days". &nbsp;Those days are not my favorite, but they come and they must be dealt with. &nbsp;I deal with them in the bathroom, and just say I'm tired when they notice my eyes. <span style="background-color: purple;">&nbsp;<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FA7HiIDLvm8" target="_blank">This song</a></span>&nbsp;sums it up perfectly. &nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I thought my kids were too old for Christmas, one of the worst things I think I've ever done as a mother. &nbsp;Don't I know the most important thing you can do in the world is NOT to change? &nbsp;Yes! &nbsp;I know this! &nbsp;(One of the worst things about being a mother is when the Voice In Your Head lectures you and you have no good excuse, so instead of trying to defend your worthless self, you just vow to do better in the future. &nbsp;But you know the kids will always remember the time you DIDN'T!! &nbsp; The struggle is REAL!)</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The last year there have been things I was forced to change, but nothing that really bothered me. &nbsp;I just walked on. &nbsp;Some of the best advice I ever got in life was not actually advice about life, it was about golf. &nbsp;It applies both places equally well, and that advice was this: &nbsp;<b>Advance the ball. &nbsp;</b>Do not stand there, anxiously plotting on how to hit that ball a mile (is that a long way for golf? &nbsp;I don't even know.) and make sure it rolls within 3 feet of a little hole. &nbsp;Just step up there, breathe through it and advance the damn ball. &nbsp;One stroke at a time. &nbsp;It's not really that big of a deal.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">So today, instead of filling the Christmas tins <b>we were looking for </b>with cookies and candies, &nbsp;as I had planned, I washed and hung up the stockings <b>we were <i>not</i> looking for</b> but found just in time. &nbsp;My heart was pierced and I adjusted and advanced the ball. &nbsp;I brought that stocking in and washed it on the delicate cycle. &nbsp;I hung up both my baby's stockings by the chimney, with infinite care. &nbsp;It might be the last time I ever get to do that while they are home. &nbsp;Like it <i>used to be</i>.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0uLRGBjwzEY" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas</span></a>&nbsp; from our house(es) to yours. &nbsp;I wish you traditions and everything as close to <i>the same</i> as you are lucky enough to have this year. &nbsp;Treasure it as you should, and may the bathroom be empty on your cry-y days. &nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sj6mvEmtt30/VnYvgeITILI/AAAAAAAADJc/CuhsScgP8Rg/s1600/AaronChristmas15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sj6mvEmtt30/VnYvgeITILI/AAAAAAAADJc/CuhsScgP8Rg/s640/AaronChristmas15.jpg" width="476" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/NjHLujQYn5I" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/12/finding-what-i-wasnt-looking-for.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-49249189328705116712015-08-07T18:24:00.001-05:002016-03-25T17:34:25.623-05:00For My Babies, On Your 18th Birthday.................<script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-22071187-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); </script><br /><div>Today my Babies turn 18. &nbsp;Wow. &nbsp;That went quick. &nbsp;If I had a dime for every time someone told me that when I was drowning in children, and up every hour of the night, I could afford car insurance for them. &nbsp;True story. &nbsp;I didn't believe it then, but I'm here to testify: it did. &nbsp;It did <b>go fast. </b>&nbsp;And that's not all.......I'm going to miss it. &nbsp;I have been missing it for several years, to tell the truth. &nbsp;They are pretty self sufficient these days.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vWEmk5IeX_M/VcTN79_VcvI/AAAAAAAADCY/g5CfM-wRlDs/s1600/P1010666.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vWEmk5IeX_M/VcTN79_VcvI/AAAAAAAADCY/g5CfM-wRlDs/s640/P1010666.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Patsy Holt. &nbsp;Concept also by Patsy Holt. &nbsp;Isn't she a genius?</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br />The day they were born was a disaster in every sense of the word. &nbsp;I was bleeding out, internally, and so were my babies. &nbsp;They were afraid to put me out, and made me sign a waiver saying I understood that I might die if they just knocked me out. &nbsp;This struck me as funny, even then. &nbsp;I *was* dying. &nbsp;I signed the paper and enjoyed one last laugh. &nbsp;Or so I thought. &nbsp;I'd love to see the signature I put on that release.<br /><br />When I woke up, some woman, who I could not really see because I didn't have my contacts in, talked for a long time. &nbsp;I think she was telling me that my babies had both been born legally dead and all the complications we were now facing....... &nbsp;I processed none of this. <br /><br />When she was done I had two questions: Where are my babies? &nbsp;What did I have?<br /><br />I could tell by her expression (what I could see of it) that I had not passed some sort of test. &nbsp;I was in no mood to care. &nbsp;Near death experiences embolden you to stick with first things first, I guess. &nbsp;They showed me Polaroids of my babies, weighing 7.3 and 6.4 but too white, with blue lips and lifeless looking. &nbsp;This did not phase me a bit, but I was beginning to catch on. &nbsp;I insisted on being wheeled through the NICU on a gurney to see them. &nbsp;They lived, but no one knew how long they would hang on or what problems may have to be dealt with in the future. &nbsp;Added to this was the fact that my twins were across the room from each other. &nbsp;This was unacceptable, and I wondered what kind of people were in charge of taking care of not only my babies, but any babies at all! &nbsp;I got that changed in a hurry, let me tell you. &nbsp;Never be afraid to speak up, especially in a hospital. &nbsp;They get paid for a quiet environment and will work to maintain one. &nbsp;What they were thinking is beyond me. &nbsp;That's all I have to say about that.<br />This was a turning point in my life. &nbsp;I did not know what to even pray for. &nbsp;In the end I prayed for the strength and wisdom to survive this. &nbsp;That prayer has been answered faithfully every day since. &nbsp;Thy Will Be Done is easy to say, much harder to accept. &nbsp;Blind faith is something no one should be without, and it will come to you when you need it most. &nbsp;Just believe.<br /><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9T75wP5Ojlw/VcUrIAByRXI/AAAAAAAADF4/xWIy1LA9otg/s1600/P1010670.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9T75wP5Ojlw/VcUrIAByRXI/AAAAAAAADF4/xWIy1LA9otg/s640/P1010670.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Twins should be kept together at all times. &nbsp;They don't know anything else. &nbsp;And if some hospital thinks anything different? &nbsp;Stand your ground and insist. &nbsp;Embrace your power. &nbsp;You will win.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When you find out you are going to have twins, it can be a big shock. &nbsp;Take heart. &nbsp;That shock is just training, and you are going to grow to the point where you are pretty much un-shockable. &nbsp;Think of it as training for special ops. &nbsp;You have started a roller coaster ride and you are going on it. &nbsp;Yelling that you did not know it was a roller coaster ride will only make it seem longer and annoy the other passengers. &nbsp;Sit down, strap yourself in, and enjoy it. &nbsp;You'll thank me for this advice some day.</div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hEiy5Rf7AFQ/VcTOZjqVnCI/AAAAAAAADC4/NBS8eVyUBKs/s1600/P1010681.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="604" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hEiy5Rf7AFQ/VcTOZjqVnCI/AAAAAAAADC4/NBS8eVyUBKs/s640/P1010681.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New roles for everybody! &nbsp;One of you is still the oldest, but one of you is no longer the youngest. &nbsp;It's okay, Beautiful Redhead, you are still the only girl. &nbsp;You are going to enjoy that, eventually.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>So, we had to hang around the hospital for 3 weeks, with an 8 year old boy and a 5 year old girl. &nbsp;We ate lots of popsicles! &nbsp;And the babies lived! &nbsp;My kids got a lot of attention, albeit in hospital lounges and cafeterias. &nbsp;We tried not to contemplate baby funerals, but I could see that very question circling in their eyes. &nbsp;Whatever tomorrow brought would be worried about tomorrow, and our days were spent making the most of every moment we had together. &nbsp;I have often wondered how much that time affected my older kids and hope that it affected them in the most positive way possible. &nbsp;Real life can be rough or smooth, but can only be gotten through one day at a time. <br /><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mfokXUiwHsI/VcTONsgmjHI/AAAAAAAADCw/l7m0ZKZBOls/s1600/P1010680.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mfokXUiwHsI/VcTONsgmjHI/AAAAAAAADCw/l7m0ZKZBOls/s640/P1010680.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Notice how discreetly nursing can be done? &nbsp;No need to whip out your boobs, ladies. &nbsp;Of course you can, but I would just never do that. &nbsp;It's just not how I roll.</td></tr></tbody></table><div>That 8 year old boy gained so much self confidence that I was astounded, eventually growing up to be my Rock Star. &nbsp;The 5 year old girl had a bit more of a transition, giving up her "baby of the family" status, but quickly got on board when she realized she would get to be in charge of something. &nbsp;Finally! &nbsp;This seemed to be an answer to her prayers, but I always knew she would be a Beautiful Redhead, and indeed she is, able to hear screaming babies without blinking an eye. &nbsp;It was always hard to upset her, but screaming babies just made her more mellow. &nbsp;She has always been pure joy.<br /><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AKOR8YC8spw/VcTOIthyesI/AAAAAAAADCo/7W07Uk7ioKc/s1600/P1010679.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AKOR8YC8spw/VcTOIthyesI/AAAAAAAADCo/7W07Uk7ioKc/s640/P1010679.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"What time is it? " 6. &nbsp;"6 in the morning or 6 in the evening?" &nbsp;What difference does that make?</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Our days changed. &nbsp;The pace slowed down but I was always up, it seemed. &nbsp;I felt a lot of the time that I should be doing other things. &nbsp;My "to-do" list in my head was always there, mocking me, and getting longer. &nbsp;I learned to let a lot of stuff go. &nbsp;Small stuff, mostly, at first. &nbsp;For instance, I never really cared about dust, but I did care about other people seeing mine. &nbsp;Stuff like that went first. &nbsp;Eventually things like "having a nice car" and plucking my own eyebrows went, too. &nbsp;Left somewhere along the roadside like so many disposable diapers. &nbsp;I am learning to pick some of them back up, but only occasionally. &nbsp;Once you make the change, you rarely go back. &nbsp;I don't even want to go back there. &nbsp;It just doesn't matter anymore to me now.<br />By the end almost everything was gone except "keep kids alive" and "pay bills" . &nbsp;I do not regret this part at all.<br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7PM8IBZoppM/VcTODRohmtI/AAAAAAAADCg/_YHdTntqBeA/s1600/P1010669.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="594" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7PM8IBZoppM/VcTODRohmtI/AAAAAAAADCg/_YHdTntqBeA/s640/P1010669.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Yeah, they're twins. &nbsp;Yeah, they're cute."</td></tr></tbody></table><div>Now my days were largely spent with making sure everyone being dressed, even if only in pajamas. &nbsp;In fact, "pajama days" became a big thing at my house. &nbsp;They still are my children's favorite days and I only hope that they never realize they were born out of pure exhaustion. &nbsp;At first I felt kind of bad about them, but I grew to be proud of them. &nbsp;Many days were spent just tending to the basics of life, and "outfits that fit, or even make sense", were not on my list of <b>the basics of life</b>. &nbsp;I have no regrets in this area either.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4ZedbBAhxZs/VcTOof4JnrI/AAAAAAAADDI/5-qGwgpuiy8/s1600/P1010683.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4ZedbBAhxZs/VcTOof4JnrI/AAAAAAAADDI/5-qGwgpuiy8/s640/P1010683.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They sucked the same two fingers, but on opposite hands. &nbsp;I worried needlessly about buck teeth.</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br />We had more important things to worry about. &nbsp;Like <b>bears</b>. &nbsp;Each twin had a bear, and the bears could not be lost, even for a moment. &nbsp;Our kingdom could not run without the bears. &nbsp;We learned to treasure sleeping babies on our chests. &nbsp;Or anywhere, really. &nbsp;Sleeping babies.......mmmmmmmm. &nbsp;Is there anything better? &nbsp;No one could tell them apart but us, and everyone always wanted to know if they were identical. &nbsp;We did not know. &nbsp;Due to the emergency birth it was impossible to tell and we thought it was easy to tell them apart even though no one else ever could. &nbsp;And what difference did that make anyway? &nbsp;Was it needed for our survival that day? &nbsp;Nope. &nbsp;We still do not know, or care, or see what difference it makes. &nbsp;We can still tell them apart and few others ever can. &nbsp;That's our life. &nbsp;One thing I do find hilarious is that now the Rock Star's Wife, our own Rockette, is often confused when she sees them out of the corner of her eye. &nbsp;She can't tell if it's her husband or one of the twins. &nbsp;Never fear Rockette, they will all do your bidding. &nbsp;Just be careful who you grab to kiss. &nbsp;Or not. &nbsp;It will make for interesting stories in later years. &nbsp;hahaha<br /><br />We got very creative keeping the babies safe. &nbsp;I blocked off the stairs with baby gates, and the babies promptly learned to crawl through the banisters. &nbsp;I blocked off the banisters by staple-gunning shower liners from the bottom of the stair treads to the top of the bannister. &nbsp;It looked a little strange and did not go with my decoration "theme". &nbsp;But I let that go, too. &nbsp;Again, no regrets. &nbsp;In fact, I laugh to think that I ever had a decoration "theme" to begin with. &nbsp;Let Martha Stewart reign in that land. &nbsp;It seems to make her happy and she can have it!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IHUN65iTrBk/VcTOh0bXN1I/AAAAAAAADDA/qajOmJnx_f4/s1600/P1010682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IHUN65iTrBk/VcTOh0bXN1I/AAAAAAAADDA/qajOmJnx_f4/s640/P1010682.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They eventually slid down the stairs like otters; I thought would kill them. &nbsp;Still they lived, without any broken ribs.</td></tr></tbody></table>There were days when I fished half eaten bugs out of baby's mouths, despaired that they would die of poisoning, and almost set the house on fire cleaning out the wood stove because I sucked the ashes up with the vacuum cleaner and didn't have time to change the bag, or realize that there were burning ashes inside it.<br /><br />&nbsp;<b>That was only 1 day</b>. <br /><br />Once I almost left the house without a baby because it was asleep and everybody forgot about him. &nbsp;But I did learn to hunt down bats, and kill them without hesitation just because they might scare my kids. &nbsp;I realized that I had spent a lot of my previous life concerned with things that did not matter a bit in the grand scheme of things. <br /><br />So I started just concentrating on the <b>grand scheme</b>. &nbsp;All the little stuff worked it's way off my list, plus I began to understand <i>why men got into hunting.</i> &nbsp;There is definitely a thrill to that chase, especially when you are chasing a bat in your house, and killing it makes you feel very powerful indeed. &nbsp;All in all, I'm for it and think it holds important lessons you may not understand until a time in the future, but you'll be glad you learned them then. &nbsp;Trust me on this.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>People were always saying "I don't know how you do it!" like I was <i>special</i>. &nbsp;I was <b>not</b>. &nbsp;I was a mother, and mother's just <b>do</b> it. &nbsp;They have no choice, which probably makes it look even more special, but from the inside they are just marking things off their "to-do" list. &nbsp;There list may be different from yours. &nbsp;Their list contains such items as "Check babies mouths for 1/2 eaten insects" and "count kids in car before you leave the house", or even "look at self in mirror before you leave the house". &nbsp;Still, it's just a list and it must be conquered. &nbsp;I'm not even going to mention how many items on your list will have something to do with poop. &nbsp;You'll figure it out when it's time. &nbsp;You will learn many multitudes of things to do with digestion in all it's glorious phases and have to remind yourself not to talk that way at the table.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CUFCYJPoJSg/VcTOt64Zi-I/AAAAAAAADDQ/fi7x37wSEs8/s1600/P1010684.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CUFCYJPoJSg/VcTOt64Zi-I/AAAAAAAADDQ/fi7x37wSEs8/s640/P1010684.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy Birthday Bro. &nbsp;Let's have a cake fight.</td></tr></tbody></table>Time passed. &nbsp;Before long the twins were throwing their food on the floor like champs and the new carpeting had a new pattern from juice stains spilled, nay, <i>sprinkled </i>from tippy cups. &nbsp;I just rearranged the furniture until I realized it would be better to have areas of concentrated stains and areas of just clean carpet. This led to odd furniture arrangements that I <b>totally</b> lied about and blamed on the kids making forts, <i>with a straight face&nbsp;</i>. I was not questioned further and I sold that house, wished the new owners good luck with stain removal, and a business card from a reliable source for installation and purchase of new carpet.<br /><br />I didn't care about carpet. &nbsp;My babies were growing, laughing, crawling, and smart! &nbsp;Too smart, on most days, but that was a blessing! &nbsp;I still didn't know what would happen in the future but I had learned to take one day at a time, and to roll with the punches.<br /><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6-bzKBxksNU/VcTO-UggvDI/AAAAAAAADDY/StZWsG5IA8E/s1600/P1010678.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6-bzKBxksNU/VcTO-UggvDI/AAAAAAAADDY/StZWsG5IA8E/s640/P1010678.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some baby rabbits, about to be loved to death. &nbsp;Literally. &nbsp;RIP baby rabbits.</td></tr></tbody></table><div>I found two babies not to be much more trouble or time consuming than one. &nbsp;It is hard not to compare them, but I got better at it. &nbsp;The way they worked together was amazing to me, with one twin being more dominant and figuring things out, then somehow communicating this to the other twin and getting them to do it. &nbsp;Classic distraction. &nbsp;I think I might have learned it from them, and they were pro's at it by the age of 2.<br /><br /></div><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wQ-AyRNIW7Q/VcTNyIy38zI/AAAAAAAADCQ/7oXe19R-chs/s1600/P1010677.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wQ-AyRNIW7Q/VcTNyIy38zI/AAAAAAAADCQ/7oXe19R-chs/s640/P1010677.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />I learned to fear silence, in the few moments I tore my attention away to, say, put away the clean dishes. &nbsp;I should have let the dishes go. &nbsp;During one particular silence I went to check on the twins playing outside, in a fenced yard. &nbsp;I was sure they were fine but I couldn't see them, so I had to check. &nbsp;This time I was greeted by them playing in the mud. &nbsp;I didn't even sweat it. <br /><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iEfDuuRcaII/VcTP5yGKp6I/AAAAAAAADD4/dt_35l1wAoE/s1600/P1010700.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iEfDuuRcaII/VcTP5yGKp6I/AAAAAAAADD4/dt_35l1wAoE/s640/P1010700.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We're playing in the mud, Mom!! &nbsp;I can see that! &nbsp;Indeed you are!</td></tr></tbody></table><div>I did eventually take off the clothes they were wearing so I could hose them off and during that time, they just kept playing. &nbsp;From these boys I learned to be calm and carry on, and not blink an eye when someone flew past without a stitch of clothes on.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-x0RMLcRm3EI/VcTQNn35-gI/AAAAAAAADEA/_WnaBnuYbkE/s1600/P1010701.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-x0RMLcRm3EI/VcTQNn35-gI/AAAAAAAADEA/_WnaBnuYbkE/s640/P1010701.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alrighty, then, just give me your clothes and carry on, my sons!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br />It was easy, considering this was just mud. &nbsp;Mud is clean compared to the first time this had happened to me. That time I had found the them putting things in the stool and then fishing them out and eating them. &nbsp;Is that the most disgusting thing? &nbsp;It still has top honors in my life. &nbsp;Hopefully it will keep it's place of honor because if there is something worse than that, I don't want to know what it might be.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o-MTlEw2kkg/VcTQyTo3h5I/AAAAAAAADEQ/Qqybj09qmEE/s1600/P1010686.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o-MTlEw2kkg/VcTQyTo3h5I/AAAAAAAADEQ/Qqybj09qmEE/s640/P1010686.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep. &nbsp;They did that. &nbsp;And they lived. &nbsp;The blue stuff under the one on the right? &nbsp;No clue at all.</td></tr></tbody></table>Our days were ruled by these twins. &nbsp;But I was not the only one they ruled. &nbsp;Oh no, they ruled us ALL. &nbsp;I had a lot of good help, all along the way. &nbsp;People who loved me, <i>and</i> those babies, and took time to get to know the differences between them. &nbsp;People who gave their attention and help, and became a part of our lives without even thinking it over. &nbsp;We had so much fun, even on the bad days.<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; <br />We had so many catastrophes that my kids stopped getting caught up in the catastrophes and had contests for solutions instead. &nbsp;To this day they will remain calm when everyone else is obsessing over details that seldom matter. &nbsp;Growing up in a large family is a gift that is self-sustaining. &nbsp;I always wanted 3 or 4 kids, but I had decided one boy and one girl was perfect. &nbsp;I am so glad that I got to have 4, now. &nbsp; I would have had 10 more if I could have. That might be a lie, but metaphorically speaking, it is the truth. I took the economical route and just started raising other people's when I got the chance. &nbsp;It has worked out very well.<br /><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ljTcssG_Fi8/VcTQgctYU3I/AAAAAAAADEI/1QQgPNZlpco/s1600/P1010685.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ljTcssG_Fi8/VcTQgctYU3I/AAAAAAAADEI/1QQgPNZlpco/s640/P1010685.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This face ruled all our lives for several years. &nbsp;My Youngest Baby. &nbsp;He made us dance like monkeys. &nbsp;.....and we danced, like a wave on the ocean......we danced and danced and danced.</td></tr></tbody></table><div>The Youngest Baby, the one who had more trouble getting started, turned out to have a will that simply would not be denied. &nbsp;You could not get anything past this kid. &nbsp;He was born "street smart", and I feared he was smarter than me. &nbsp;Years of buying 2 exactly alike things only to have him decide one was better, and his brother, the Oldest Baby, buying into this, this.............ILLUSION. &nbsp;It drove me nuts! &nbsp; But look at that face! &nbsp;These days I can almost cry when I remember what it was like to scoop him us and kiss his neck and have him tell me his outrageous stories that were total lies. &nbsp;I would do it all again. &nbsp;He used to say, every night, "love ya ta-marra, mom". &nbsp;It's one of my most treasured memories. &nbsp;I'll always love you tomorrow, too, babe.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7lWpkx6haqw/VcTRH-nGqMI/AAAAAAAADEY/z1UsnFTBXVc/s1600/P1010691.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7lWpkx6haqw/VcTRH-nGqMI/AAAAAAAADEY/z1UsnFTBXVc/s640/P1010691.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And this face, mmmmmm. &nbsp;He never made us dance. &nbsp;He was our little snuggler, and would sit with us for hours. &nbsp;He is also the one we had to drag through KCI airport on top of his winter coat at 2 am because we couldn't get him to wake up. &nbsp;We made it work, fearful of being turned in for neglect.</td></tr></tbody></table><div>The Oldest Baby, on the other hand, was easy going and calm. &nbsp;Gullible, too, sadly.....when it came to his brother. &nbsp;It took me years to show him that he could have another toy, or another color of vitamin, and live a happy life. &nbsp;He finally caught on but until then he was dancing right along with the rest of us. &nbsp;I found it exhausting but also very funny and it kept me thin. &nbsp;He had a speech impediment as a small child, and once toddled up to me with his bear and his blanky and I lay on the couch, threw back my covers and announced "I'm gonna FWEEP with my MOMMY", sending us all into peals of laughter and then wanting to know what was so funny. &nbsp;You can still sleep with me anytime, kid, even though it makes you smile uncomfortably to hear me say that now. &nbsp;Muahahahahahahahaha. &nbsp;I remember the days when you used to beg to sleep with me every night! &nbsp;The day he looked at his brother and said, in a tired tone "Oh, please, Airnon......" (that was how he pronounced "Aaron" for several years) &nbsp;I knew life was going to be easier from that point on. &nbsp;He was no longer buying into the illusion.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KVKFq_P8UAM/VcUpK0XZwlI/AAAAAAAADFU/XggEJS_vM5A/s1600/P1010694.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KVKFq_P8UAM/VcUpK0XZwlI/AAAAAAAADFU/XggEJS_vM5A/s1600/P1010694.JPG" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at how the tree is decorated. &nbsp;hahaha</td></tr></tbody></table>We had our challenges, but we just met them. &nbsp;Notice there are no decorations on the bottom half of the Christmas tree in the picture above? &nbsp;This was progress! &nbsp;The year before we put the tree inside the play pen. &nbsp;I don't know if they even still make play pens, but their uses were legion.<br /><br />They made us laugh every single day. &nbsp;Some times it was hard to explain why we were laughing and some times it wasn't.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--t9aJqTT60g/VcUpdPv2lZI/AAAAAAAADFc/jcvO5MFS8ig/s1600/P1010690.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--t9aJqTT60g/VcUpdPv2lZI/AAAAAAAADFc/jcvO5MFS8ig/s640/P1010690.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm sorry, OK boys? &nbsp;But I won't say which one this is, and who can ever resist a baby butt?</td></tr></tbody></table>Potty training, which was never my strong suite, took 4 years with the twins. &nbsp;Because they were boys? &nbsp;Because I suck at potty training? &nbsp;I don't know, I guess it was just my karma or something, but I paid the dues. &nbsp;I PAID THEM IN BLOOD. &nbsp;I was so proud when I got them to pee outside at 2 and then spent the next two years embarrassed because they peed outside ANYWHERE, ALL THE TIME, EVEN ON MAIN STREET DURING PARADES, and convinced that every time they pooped their pants, they were doing it ON PURPOSE because they were getting even for something. &nbsp;I never could pin down <b>what</b>. In the end I just had to wait them out. &nbsp;I can still change diapers on the fly, traveling at sonic speeds through distances that do not bear examination. &nbsp;It's an odd skill, I will admit, but there you have it. &nbsp; Sometimes you just have to tip the guy who picks up your trash. &nbsp;Especially when you run a daycare despite the fact that you can't even get your own kids potty trained. &nbsp;Especially in the summer. &nbsp;Garbage men do make good money, and they earn it, let me tell you. &nbsp;I think we should probably pause and thank God for garbage men right now.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BDJ3s3pUQw0/VcUpufqyagI/AAAAAAAADFk/NtlB1tu1fsU/s1600/P1010689.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BDJ3s3pUQw0/VcUpufqyagI/AAAAAAAADFk/NtlB1tu1fsU/s640/P1010689.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brothers. &nbsp;There is no substitute.</td></tr></tbody></table><div>&nbsp;One year I am ashamed to say that when I found out on Sunday evening that my Youngest Baby was supposed to be a knight in a play the next day, I just sent two rolls of aluminum foil to school with him, told him to "wrap it everywhere" and called it good. &nbsp;I did not have time for that crap. &nbsp;And I don't think anybody else did, either. &nbsp;"Ain't got time fo that" wasn't even a saying yet, but it would have fit perfectly. &nbsp;I dearly wish I would have said it to a packed auditorium before a Bell Game, but alas, I did not. &nbsp;I regret that. &nbsp;It was the time of noticing that we spent our time and energy on stupid stuff that did not matter in the world, but not wanting to be the first to say it. &nbsp;I don't miss those days, and they were a waste of time anyway.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jEKbHIzBeds/VcUqnoxQlPI/AAAAAAAADFw/GpT6mCEI9Q0/s1600/P1010687.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jEKbHIzBeds/VcUqnoxQlPI/AAAAAAAADFw/GpT6mCEI9Q0/s640/P1010687.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah, they're twins. &nbsp;I wish they would take a nap. &nbsp;Sigh.</td></tr></tbody></table><div>The Beautiful Redhead found being the only girl really fun, especially after the twins got older. &nbsp;In fact, she never saw the guy checking her out when we took the float trip the year she was 20. &nbsp;She never saw My Oldest Baby, who in 3rd grade chose to label himself as a "middle child", give the guy checking her out a direct look, a nod of his head, and an "How ya doin" that clearly said "Get away from that girl, or suffer the consequences". &nbsp;He was as big as a 20 year old at the time. &nbsp;She never saw the poor guy scuttle off, afraid of her 16 year old brother, either. &nbsp;But that all happened. &nbsp;It was hilarious and I enjoyed it very, very much. &nbsp;He never said a word to her about it. &nbsp;It was just a day in the life of a brother, I guess.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8UBgA225fFE/VcTRbDR7N8I/AAAAAAAADEg/vDcdfnlxUbY/s1600/2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8UBgA225fFE/VcTRbDR7N8I/AAAAAAAADEg/vDcdfnlxUbY/s640/2015.jpg" width="638" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Influencing a new generation. &nbsp;They are well prepared.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now they are 18. &nbsp;They are starting their senior year. &nbsp;What does the future hold? &nbsp;Still unknown. &nbsp;What is known is that they have many people who love them, who showed up and taught them what they needed to know, even when the lessons were hard. &nbsp;I think they are well prepared and this world is very lucky to have them in it.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HeNkHdBFP1c/VcTR1hfP_TI/AAAAAAAADEo/7nZhlSTWgis/s1600/P8110079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HeNkHdBFP1c/VcTR1hfP_TI/AAAAAAAADEo/7nZhlSTWgis/s640/P8110079.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Need a ride? &nbsp;Hop in.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>I know I'm their mother, but I've known it all along. &nbsp;I am so thankful for the lessons they have taught me. &nbsp;Also, the father's day cards are a nice touch, boys. &nbsp;;) &nbsp;But let us not forget the angels that have always been there. &nbsp;Never forget them. &nbsp;Never forget to be them, when you need to. &nbsp;It all comes back around.<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L5RsrJL11-E/VcTTCzWTqJI/AAAAAAAADE0/bvoSILc0AF8/s1600/myboys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L5RsrJL11-E/VcTTCzWTqJI/AAAAAAAADE0/bvoSILc0AF8/s640/myboys.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div><br />Whatever happens, I know that you will do well. &nbsp;I love you more than you will know until you have kids of your own. &nbsp;I can't wait for that to happen, of course, but there is plenty of time. &nbsp;And if I should somehow miss your kids? &nbsp;Know that I am there, inside you, always, and that you will do fine because you were well prepared by a woman who knew what was really important and never looked away for more than a few seconds. ( Just because she really needed to go to the bathroom.) &nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's to the next 18 years. &nbsp;Don't worry. &nbsp;We will handle it just like we've handled everything else. &nbsp;Laughing all the way and taking one day at a time.</div><div><br /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/WAa9MPuSSJQ" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/08/for-my-babies-on-your-18th-birthday.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-18956011322170411402015-05-19T09:33:00.001-05:002015-05-19T09:33:58.686-05:00These Days of Wine and Roses...........<div><br /></div><span style="font-size: large;">School is almost out, graduations are happening everywhere, and the roses are blooming in abundance. &nbsp;Last weekend we took a mini vacation to see My Fourth Son graduate. &nbsp;It was good to be back and visit everyone. &nbsp;We even took the dogs.</span><br /><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KTNHa0kg35Q/VVs5GPzK0QI/AAAAAAAAC-4/Sdp3hQrl4gw/s1600/daboys2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KTNHa0kg35Q/VVs5GPzK0QI/AAAAAAAAC-4/Sdp3hQrl4gw/s640/daboys2.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Da boyz</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-V2cvfYXoHpY/VVs5bw4ASNI/AAAAAAAAC_A/BFcBji4P1l0/s1600/metruitt.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-V2cvfYXoHpY/VVs5bw4ASNI/AAAAAAAAC_A/BFcBji4P1l0/s640/metruitt.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My Fourth Son. &nbsp;When I met him he rode a bicycle and educated me on the reasons why Mongoose was the only brand of bike he would ride. &nbsp;He is a young man and an old soul, and I love him like my own.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yyLEPtfhnHs/VVs5lQi8XpI/AAAAAAAAC_I/jAEvwQbfE1U/s1600/truittsawyer.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yyLEPtfhnHs/VVs5lQi8XpI/AAAAAAAAC_I/jAEvwQbfE1U/s640/truittsawyer.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cousins.....nothing like cousins.......</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jrhzZ2d5ZVE/VVtAWuCrVLI/AAAAAAAAC_w/ujxcbzGq7mU/s1600/2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jrhzZ2d5ZVE/VVtAWuCrVLI/AAAAAAAAC_w/ujxcbzGq7mU/s640/2015.jpg" width="638" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's party time. &nbsp;Note the change of costume. &nbsp;My Oldest Baby picked the perfect outfit for anything to happen, I must say. &nbsp;He is the one with the paint covered shorts on. &nbsp;Make a note of that.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><span style="font-size: large;">My Oldest Baby and I shared a bonding experience when we got stuck on the side of the road on our way home. &nbsp;Jack was riding with him in the truck, proudly sitting in the middle with his ears flying back in the breeze of all the open windows. &nbsp;Shadow was riding with me in her royal carriage of (the allergic alternative to Down) featherbeds with the entire back of the car to herself. &nbsp;I have about mastered the art of driving, watching traffic ahead, and simultaneously making sure my children are following me. &nbsp;When they drive badly, though, things tend to go downhill.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">When I noticed My Oldest Baby weaving, I slowed down, as did he. &nbsp;But then he was leaning down, Jack had disappeared, and I was asking, out loud, with some very bad language, what was going on. &nbsp;Shadow was looking at me with an expression that clearly said "I don't know what your problem is, but I had nothing to do with it. &nbsp;I'm just laying here minding my own business." &nbsp; That was about the time he straight up crossed the center line and all I said was "That is IT!" and pulled over to the side of the road. &nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">It had rained, a lot, the night before. &nbsp;Storms had moved across the entire state. &nbsp;When My Oldest Son pulled over behind me, the right front wheel dropped into the ditch, the entire truck settled in for what looked to be a good long nap, my son's head dropped forward in defeat, and both dogs were standing up, tails wagging, ready for their next adventure. &nbsp;I was happy nothing too bad had happend. &nbsp;Being stuck is not too bad. &nbsp;It's happened to me more than once, and being stuck is not a huge problem in this world.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">We examined the situation, decided to use one of the (allergic alternative to Down) featherbeds as traction, and then proceeded to rock that truck back and forth, getting what looked to me more stuck with each pass. &nbsp;Mud was flying front and back, alternatively, and Jack's mind was blown as he tried to stay out of the floor board because the noise of the wheels spinning scared him. &nbsp;I'm trying to sooth him as I wonder how exactly you blow a transmition, because I'm thinking that will be the next thing that happens to us. &nbsp;About that time we were rescued by a man name of Mike, who stopped, had a chain, and opened with a joke about a Dodge pulling out a GMC. &nbsp;He was a great and kind man, gently explaining that there was no good place to attach the chain, and if we were all right with losing a bumper, he would try to gently guide the truck out of the ditch. &nbsp;We were ok with that, and we got the truck out of the ditch without losing a bumper. &nbsp;So thank you Mike! &nbsp;We forgot to take a picture, but My Youngest Baby was now covered in mud from head to toe, and I am pretty sure I have more gray hairs than before that day. &nbsp;The good news is that my constant harping on what can happen when you "just drop a wheel off the shoulder" has gained some serious street cred and the kids have stopped rolling their eyes when I quiz them about various mechanical aspects before they leave on trips. &nbsp;Have you checked your oil? &nbsp;Tire pressure? &nbsp;Spare? &nbsp;Do you have a blanket? &nbsp;Water? &nbsp;Something to eat? &nbsp;Extra clothes? &nbsp;Extra boots? &nbsp;Gloves? &nbsp;Map? &nbsp;Poison Ivy Lotion? &nbsp;Allergy pills? &nbsp;You get the drift. &nbsp;Kids seem to think mothers enjoy asking these questions. &nbsp;That is not true. &nbsp;In truth it is exhausting, and should we forget something it is sure to be our fault because we forgot to ask. &nbsp;It's not fair at all and sometimes a kid needs to be stuck and covered with mud along a semi-busy highway before they start to realize that there is a point to being harangued by their mother after all. &nbsp;Extra points to you if you can manage to be WITH your child when this happens. &nbsp;Those memories don't just make themselves, ya know.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">At this point it was decided that both dogs would ride with me, as Jack was apparently the reason for all the weaving. &nbsp;Within the next half hour I inadvertantly rolled poor Jack's head up in the back window, and then did some weaving of my own as I frantically punched buttons trying to free him before he choked to death. &nbsp;If it's not one thing it's another, don't you find that to be true? &nbsp;After that, poor Jack seemed not to be hurt except for his feelings, and curled up in a ball in the very back, facing away from me. &nbsp;I felt terrible, but we made it home safe and sound. &nbsp;It brought to mind&nbsp;<span style="color: red;"><a href="http://kelseylynae.blogspot.com/2015/05/while-driving.html" target="_blank">this post</a>,</span> in which Kelsey asked if it was worse to text and drive or parent and drive. &nbsp;My answer is PARENT AND DRIVE, Kels! &nbsp;You can turn your phone off, after all. &nbsp;Not so with children or pets.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">After that I could settle down, and in thinking about how good it was to see everyone, and to see the boys there to share that time with their friends, it brought this poem to mind, by Ernest Dowson:</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love and desire and hate:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I think they have no portion in us after</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">We pass the gate.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">They are not long, the days of wine and roses:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Out of a misty dream</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Our path emerges for awhile, then closes</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Within a dream.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">With all the roses blooming and all the love and joy around, it seemed only fitting to make some&nbsp;<span style="color: red;"><a href="http://www.feastingathome.com/rose-petal-jam/" target="_blank">Rose Petal Jam</a>, </span>so I did. &nbsp;The recipe is within the link, and I highly recommend it. It is absolutely wonderful, as well as beautiful, and it doesn't take much time to do, either, once you pinch the white parts out of your petals. &nbsp;For me, spending awhile touching rose petals and sorting them out was my favorite part except for hearing the lids pop.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FXoCNkaIG88/VVs5-PtTgOI/AAAAAAAAC_Q/aP4W--tdZB8/s1600/rosepetaljam1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FXoCNkaIG88/VVs5-PtTgOI/AAAAAAAAC_Q/aP4W--tdZB8/s640/rosepetaljam1.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A warm bath for you, my pretties.......</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">See how pretty they are just in the pan? &nbsp;Blogger is having issues with me uploading pictures today, so I can't show you what they look like after this, but they will lose their color. &nbsp;Do not worry, it will come back as soon as you add the lemon juice.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0cU0fFLjUn4/VVs9IJ40o-I/AAAAAAAAC_k/aahMYSyMOuc/s1600/rosepetaljam3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0cU0fFLjUn4/VVs9IJ40o-I/AAAAAAAAC_k/aahMYSyMOuc/s640/rosepetaljam3.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eye appeal, check.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">This is the finished product. &nbsp;It tastes as good as it looks, and how could you not take advantage of all those petals, just sitting their waiting for a practical purpose to their lives? &nbsp;They aren't just pretty faces, ya know. &nbsp;They have worth that goes way beyond that.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">I'm listening to more lids pop right now, having been up late with dearly beloved friends, some of which spent the night, and up early this morning getting them all sent off for their days. &nbsp;I'm good like that.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iAqwEU8Hcm8/VVs89cyd5LI/AAAAAAAAC_c/Twf5U1968LQ/s1600/boysintown.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iAqwEU8Hcm8/VVs89cyd5LI/AAAAAAAAC_c/Twf5U1968LQ/s640/boysintown.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just some of the <strike>boys</strike>&nbsp;er, men in my life. &nbsp;Some have been in my life longer than others. Okay, ONE. &nbsp;Some are new. &nbsp;All are cherished, 3 of them since the day they were born. &nbsp;Guess which 3.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Next I am going to see about using the rose petals to make jelly, and you can find that recipe&nbsp;<span style="color: red;"><a href="http://www.prairielandherbs.com/violetjelly.htm" target="_blank">here</a>. &nbsp;</span>For the price of the sugar and some lemons, why not? &nbsp;And next spring I am going to try to catch the Violets in time, too, as this recipe works for several edible flowers listed at the bottom of that post.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">They are not long, these days of wine and roses...........The jam and jelly that I am making during these days will be my handmade gift this year. &nbsp;I hope it has been infused with all the love our family has seen and commemorated this weekend. &nbsp;The memories these boys share with us, their parents, span what I hope they always remember as the best years of their lives. &nbsp;Those years have certainly been some of the best years of my own. &nbsp;Thank you, boys, for all the nights no one slept, the empty cans of chewing tobacco, the 16,000 firecracker stunt, the firsts, the lasts, the list of foods I make that are, according to you, "the best", and the yet to happen. &nbsp; Make the most of every day you have and you will always have a good life, even when you are stuck on the side of the road. &nbsp;I will try to be with you when that happens, but you really don't need me, at least for that, any more. &nbsp;There will be other things, no doubt, and we will get through those too. &nbsp;Never doubt it. &nbsp;Knock 'em dead, kid, you graduate, you. &nbsp;The world is lucky to have you.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/5dlcBuNns4Q" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/05/these-days-of-wine-and-roses.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-86360594812057029292015-05-11T12:00:00.003-05:002015-05-11T12:08:47.354-05:00Mother's Day..........<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I had a special present for Mother's Day this year, when The Beautiful Redhead called and said she was coming Friday night and spending the entire weekend.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">She asked me what I wanted for a present when she got here, as she is the designated "present buyer" for such occasions. &nbsp;This is what being an only daughter often means in a family of boys. &nbsp;I made it clear that the only present I wanted or needed, I already had. &nbsp;Time spent with grown children is the rarest of gifts, and I had already hit the mother lode.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Beautiful Redhead has grown up. My little girl has grown into a smart, capable, gorgeous woman. &nbsp;She comes from a long line of these.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pb6blv30P9E/VVDLPlnMFkI/AAAAAAAAC6w/NI_qAPUmbhI/s1600/grandmahelen.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pb6blv30P9E/VVDLPlnMFkI/AAAAAAAAC6w/NI_qAPUmbhI/s640/grandmahelen.JPG" width="628" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Pictured here are Clara Hamilton, Forrest's 2nd wife and step mother (although she was never considered anything but "mother", Helen Hamilton Hooker (my &nbsp;mother's mother), and Geri Hamilton, first wife of Dobby (Wayne).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">This has always been one of my favorite pictures of Big Grandma. &nbsp;It was taken in the basement of the Methodist Church in Browning, Mo., I believe after my mother's wedding in 1960. &nbsp;See the suds on Clara's hands? &nbsp;These fine ladies were cleaning up after and someone grabbed a camera and instead of making duck faces or sticking out their tongues, they grabbed a broom and posed. &nbsp;They knew that life involved a lot of hard work but that was no reason they could not still have fun together. &nbsp;In fact, that is how memories are made.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">It will always break my heart that these wonderful women did not get to know her. &nbsp;It seems so wrong and unfair. &nbsp;I also know, though, that what is born in the blood will come out in the bone, and that they are within her. &nbsp;When she wonders where her strength comes from, this is part of the answer, and they will never let her down. &nbsp;When things go wrong and she feels like crying, but laughs instead and redoubles her efforts, and that is just as it should be. &nbsp; &nbsp;</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yuCduXS_5hc/VVDK3ROiIPI/AAAAAAAAC6g/S-MJyrwl1d8/s1600/momandme1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yuCduXS_5hc/VVDK3ROiIPI/AAAAAAAAC6g/S-MJyrwl1d8/s640/momandme1.JPG" width="622" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My second Christmas, at Big Grandma's house. &nbsp;Mom was expecting my brother, Superman, in May of the next year. &nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I am at the age where I can see all our paths through life and what was discarded and kept along the way. &nbsp;I realized that The Beautiful Redhead has already made many wise decisions sorting through her life and wondered which memories would always be with her. &nbsp;I also realized that whatever path she takes from now on, she is capable of handling it. &nbsp;It came as a bittersweet realization.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Do you ever look at your children and wonder how many things they will never remember that you will never forget? &nbsp;I spend what seems like a lot of time doing just that. &nbsp;I think that they might not remember with their minds, but they will always remember with thier souls, whether they ever put it together in their minds or not. Children grow up and all those tedious mothering moments have a huge payoff. &nbsp;The only trick is, you won't get to see the results for 20 to 25 years. &nbsp;The first part of those years seems to take forever, but the last part seems to happen very fast. &nbsp;It's a phenomena that really has to be experienced before it can truly be believed, but I highly recommend it.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X5US3By9nS0/VVDLDDh1vZI/AAAAAAAAC6o/kOaCNYLo8_U/s1600/momandme.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X5US3By9nS0/VVDLDDh1vZI/AAAAAAAAC6o/kOaCNYLo8_U/s640/momandme.JPG" width="458" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mom and I at my first wedding. &nbsp;She was 42, I was 18. &nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I continued wondering about the grandchildren she will give me. &nbsp;I did not bring it up, though. &nbsp;We are just past the stage where she confidently states that she is never having kids, and I don't want to push it. &nbsp;heh heh. &nbsp; I am sure they will be outstanding little people, at any rate, should any of them decide to show up. &nbsp;;)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Mostly, though, I just basked in the fact that she was in my house. &nbsp;Superman and Wonder Woman came over Saturday night and I so enjoyed watching she and her uncle sample different kinds of beers, getting more jolly by the hour. &nbsp;It hit me that she was a grown up woman several times and all I could do was just accept this fact. &nbsp;I don't know why it keeps surprising me, but it does.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">She and the twins went to church with me on Mother's Day, and I told her how much it meant to me to have an hour each week where I can sit with my arm casually around the boys and just be with them. &nbsp;I know they will leave home soon and I am happy for them but..........well, it is just another step that will take them (possibly) farther away from me, physically. &nbsp;But in their hearts? &nbsp;They will never be far away, this is my greatest hope, and all the moments that lead up to that time will be cherished. &nbsp;By me. &nbsp;Understand that they are still rolling their eyes and telling me to calm down, but this will pass as soon as they are out their on their own. &nbsp;This is not my first rodeo in this area and I will be there when they call, or better yet, come back home.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">We observed together how much they have grown up and I saw her weighing and measuring their progress like any good older sister and my heart was full to overflowing. &nbsp;She learned it from me, but it was handed down through generations and each of us are just links in a great chain that flows unbroken through time. &nbsp;This is a great comfort to me. &nbsp;Also, she wore&nbsp;<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7242561807476129486#editor/target=post;postID=8682352403548691726;onPublishedMenu=allposts;onClosedMenu=allposts;postNum=0;src=postname" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">The Locket</span></a>, which always makes me so happy, and I wore my mother's wedding ring, which I never go anywhere without. &nbsp;The only sad moment came when the only good picture I have taken in years did not get saved on her phone. &nbsp;I think I will just hire someone to take actual pictures of all of us. &nbsp;I am not happy with this new digital picture phase we are going through. &nbsp;Too undependable. &nbsp;I'm gonna take it back to old school, for old school never lets me down.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Included in our weekend shenanigans were finding two grass snakes taking cover in the corner flashing of the house ("you just STOOD THERE, mom!") &nbsp;which I guess I will have to hunt down and relocate, an introduction to the best neighbors on earth, who have raised a baby squirrel to teenage years but whom did not decide to make an appearance, a trip to Wal Mart on a Friday night which was......interesting to say the least, and visits with other extended family that she does not get to see very often but loves very much. &nbsp;That's all I can tell you. &nbsp;If you want to know more about &nbsp;our shenanigans, you have to show up for them, and then you will have to keep the secret too. &nbsp;:D</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">We both missed our Charli-girl, and spent a lot of time looking through pictures and videos. &nbsp;This was The Rockette's first Mother's Day and The Rock Star had planned her a relaxing day at home without having to go anywhere. &nbsp;Personally, I highly approved of this gift, as that has always been one of my favorite things on earth. I think it worked, because The Rockette sounded very relaxed and happy when we spoke on the phone.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pb6blv30P9E/VVDLPlnMFkI/AAAAAAAAC6w/NI_qAPUmbhI/s1600/grandmahelen.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_9g1d-cOuBo/VVDLmE49DeI/AAAAAAAAC7A/pJZpRVBYB8g/s1600/mardiandcharli.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_9g1d-cOuBo/VVDLmE49DeI/AAAAAAAAC7A/pJZpRVBYB8g/s640/mardiandcharli.JPG" width="598" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">At a basketball game, already cheering. &nbsp;The big question is whether she will be a Mizzou or KU fan. &nbsp;This is new for our family, but we are trying our best to be open minded. &nbsp;It's a sports thing........and a KC thing.....lol</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">All in all, it was a wonderful weekend. &nbsp;Everything I could have hoped for. &nbsp;If you are a person who agonizes over what flowers to send your mom, and if you were to ask for my advice, just go home instead. &nbsp;Spend some time with the people who raised you. &nbsp;You can find wildflowers all along the roads, just pick some of those if you must. Your mom values your presence above any other gift.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Oh, and the&nbsp;<a href="http://www.carlsbadcravings.com/overnight-creme-brulee-french-toast/" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Creme Brulee French Toast</span></a>? &nbsp;It's a keeper! &nbsp;We served it with raspberries and it was perfect. &nbsp;I declared it our new breakfast whenever we are able to be together from here on out, and The Beautiful Redhead discovered the challenges of foodie photography.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xd8q2vjBz2Y/VVDa4S8afRI/AAAAAAAAC7Q/74sdraBGOH4/s1600/cremebruleefrenchtoast.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xd8q2vjBz2Y/VVDa4S8afRI/AAAAAAAAC7Q/74sdraBGOH4/s640/cremebruleefrenchtoast.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You want to try this. &nbsp;Trust me.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-22071187-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); </script><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/7b_UqCYc5WY" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/05/mothers-day.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-34189676334136455152015-05-09T11:47:00.001-05:002015-05-09T11:47:47.370-05:00Mother's Day Weekend so far........<span style="font-size: large;">My daughter is here for the weekend. &nbsp;Yes, The Beautiful Redhead herself is in the HOUSE!</span><script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-22071187-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); </script><br /><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">So far, only myself and My Oldest Baby have showered, the&nbsp;<a href="http://www.carlsbadcravings.com/overnight-creme-brulee-french-toast/" target="_blank">Overnight Creme Brulee French Toast</a>&nbsp;is ready and waiting in the fridge, and My Oldest Baby has warmed up something called Buffalo Wings Pepperoni Rolls for breakfast, because he just can't wait.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I have my favorite old T shirt and a pair of the boys' old shorts on, with an ELASTIC band, that's right. &nbsp;I did not shave my legs, either. &nbsp;We are planning some shenanigans, good meals, working on the flower beds, and general lazy laying around.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">We are also going through old pictures and trying to get them somehow scanned into a place I can download them with my limited technical "skillz".</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I have no idea when that might be coming. &nbsp;You know me. &nbsp;*shrugs*</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">and in other news, the devil's members continue to rise. &nbsp;I tend to think they are probably poisonous. &nbsp;Ugh.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3lWv5ChzVZ8/VU45ljuJPPI/AAAAAAAAC58/beccPGleDdY/s1600/thestump.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="576" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3lWv5ChzVZ8/VU45ljuJPPI/AAAAAAAAC58/beccPGleDdY/s640/thestump.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The stump with the transplanted Lambshire around it and an unwelcome guest rearing it's ugly head. &nbsp;The first one wilted. &nbsp;You can see the remains at the 4 o'clock position in this picture.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uIQgBGkfDdU/VU4569i1_SI/AAAAAAAAC6E/im8TyGMuoRE/s1600/moredevil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uIQgBGkfDdU/VU4569i1_SI/AAAAAAAAC6E/im8TyGMuoRE/s640/moredevil.jpg" width="478" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Get thee behind me, satan. &nbsp;Is that an insult to poisonous mushrooms? &nbsp;I'm not even sure.........</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/51yF_jVBReE" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/05/mothers-day-weekend-so-far.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-89435273333060933212015-05-06T17:20:00.001-05:002015-05-06T17:20:26.046-05:00Treasures and Terrors.......<span style="font-size: large;">A few things...........</span><br /><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">You know the saying about how "a watched pot never boils"? &nbsp;True, also, with seeds. &nbsp;I have placed the Sweet Pea along the fence, where it holds it's own but is not twining up the fence yet. &nbsp;When The Beautiful Redhead was about 3, I called her "sweet pea" one evening and she looked at me very seriously, then wrinkled her adorable little brow and asked "Did you just call me <i>sweet pee</i>? &nbsp;Thus began her floral and faunal education.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The Four O'Clock's have been springing forth and the Astors have their heads above aground, but there they just sit. &nbsp;I clipped back some Panseys to make them bush out. &nbsp;The Lavendar, well, I don't even want to talk about the Lavendar. &nbsp;It's apparently not my thing. &nbsp;Yet. &nbsp;In fact, I am a little bit mad at Lavendar and sorely disppointed in my Lavendar specifically. &nbsp;It could not care any less. &nbsp;Oh, well. &nbsp;Same goes for the Lily of the Valley, although I continue to watch hopefully, fool that I am. &nbsp;How it can be so hard to get something that will take over started is, at present, the great mystery of my life. &nbsp;Which reminds me, I have a very good life.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Digging around in the dirt of an old stump that I am going to plant Lambshire all around, I found this.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OoMUIUi-oHg/VUp2zkigP6I/AAAAAAAAC4Y/Xy_Y61t67M0/s1600/wth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OoMUIUi-oHg/VUp2zkigP6I/AAAAAAAAC4Y/Xy_Y61t67M0/s1600/wth.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">It about scared me to death, and, call me what you will, my first thought was "<i>devil's</i>, ahem, <i>member</i>". &nbsp;I don't know if it's supposed to be a mushroom or if it's some kind of fungus or what, but I left it alone to find out. &nbsp;Because I like to live without a safety net, I guess. &nbsp;And I also am contemplating what my first thought reveals about the way my mind works, but that is another post, my dears. Anyway, if you know what this is, let me know. &nbsp;My nightmares will thank you.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">As if to make up for it, this afternoon I found this. &nbsp;I just bent down to pull up a thistle and there it was, waiting for me.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a14FL-r2okQ/VUqTGWKBA8I/AAAAAAAAC5U/tG2qD4XtEHg/s1600/clover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a14FL-r2okQ/VUqTGWKBA8I/AAAAAAAAC5U/tG2qD4XtEHg/s1600/clover.jpg" height="640" width="478" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">This took me back to what seems, in retrospect, to have been many afternoons spent with my mother on a blanket in the yard. &nbsp;I cannot be sure if we did that kind of thing all the time or I just remember the one time we found a four leaf clover. &nbsp;Either way, my mother carried that four leaf clover in her wallet till the end of her days on earth. &nbsp;It brought her back to me in a way that is becoming quite familiar. &nbsp;When I planted the Morning Glory seeds along the fence she was with me. &nbsp;I clearly remember the first time she planted them, and how excited she was when they came up, and it happened down here.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Part of her legacy to me is the fact that I am putting in lots of flowers, both perrenial and wild. &nbsp;She loved the wildflowers, as I do, and I have spent many days recently slowly walking through my yard and transplanting the great variety into the beds. &nbsp;Wild Phlox, Daiseys, Bachelor's Buttons, and Four O'Clocks will line the driveway and house.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QM7KK9x9UIA/VUp4-eWTHvI/AAAAAAAAC4k/BuJ8BCLOOow/s1600/phlox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QM7KK9x9UIA/VUp4-eWTHvI/AAAAAAAAC4k/BuJ8BCLOOow/s1600/phlox.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">&nbsp;Iris will bloom along the ditch in front on the street. &nbsp;Just about any kind of flower you can imagine that grows wild will make bigger and bigger beds until there is hopefully little left to mow.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vacYns35eHc/VUp5JPU2qKI/AAAAAAAAC4s/uxJd8NMZ3EI/s1600/iris2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vacYns35eHc/VUp5JPU2qKI/AAAAAAAAC4s/uxJd8NMZ3EI/s1600/iris2.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">At least, that is my plan. &nbsp;Next year, just more. &nbsp;Maybe move 'em around a bit, but basically just let nature take over. &nbsp;I plan to just pull it out and give other people starts every year.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Also available is plenty of ground cover, in the form of vines, including Trumpet Vine galore. &nbsp;I planted a couple of Willow trees, along with Honeysuckle and a Wasillia Bush from Janine. &nbsp;I don't know if I spelled that right but either I did or spellcheck doesn't know the difference either. &nbsp;This is what the world has come to.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xGANaxmiSdY/VUqJzOFi50I/AAAAAAAAC5E/qyAUv6OR6As/s1600/wasillia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xGANaxmiSdY/VUqJzOFi50I/AAAAAAAAC5E/qyAUv6OR6As/s1600/wasillia.jpg" height="516" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">We will see what happens. &nbsp;Despite the appearance of the Devil's member, we will just focus on the four leaf clover.</span></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/DzlZDsrMxcs" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/05/treasures-and-terrors.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-83300355999307960142015-04-27T08:42:00.000-05:002015-04-27T08:42:12.238-05:00Tiny Dancers......<span style="font-size: large;">When my oldest pretend grandchild, Abigail, was about 3, she went through a phase where she was crazy about ballerinas. &nbsp;I can remember her getting so excited every time she saw a ballerina doll that she would exclaim, "Mimi! &nbsp;LOOK! &nbsp;A balWEENa!" &nbsp;I still, to this day, sometimes pronounce it "balweena", just because it was so cute. &nbsp;Needless to say, there was a year or two there where everyone bought her ballerina dolls, and she has quite a collection.</span><script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-22071187-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); </script><br /><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Those days are gone, now, but yesterday we got to see our very own 'balweena' at her recital. &nbsp;The 'balweena' dream stuck with my Abigail long enough for her to get to give us a performance. &nbsp;The cuteness is hard to put into words.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">&nbsp;</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vzlDC42hRlA/VT40JudY8SI/AAAAAAAAC28/UuJVzOWjhwI/s1600/balweena.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vzlDC42hRlA/VT40JudY8SI/AAAAAAAAC28/UuJVzOWjhwI/s1600/balweena.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting ready<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></td></tr></tbody></table><div><span style="font-size: large;">Would you believe that her mother had somehow, miraculously, found the ever elusive <b>red lipstick? &nbsp;</b>I must admit, that red lipstick is just the thing if you are going to be performing on stage. &nbsp;Seeing her with eye makeup almost made me cry, she is growing up so fast and she looks so much like her beautiful mother.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I laughed instead of cried though, when Rosie requested make up also and her mother declared that she <i>must wait until kindergarten to wear makeup "like all the other girls"</i>. &nbsp;This cracked us all up and had the two little ones looking at the grownup women and wondering what was so funny. &nbsp;It's hard to explain to small children how much the world has changed. &nbsp;I kind of doubt they would believe it anyway.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xCZQhLQl9dI/VT41NWnGneI/AAAAAAAAC3E/f_MQREGWw-M/s1600/balweenarobe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xCZQhLQl9dI/VT41NWnGneI/AAAAAAAAC3E/f_MQREGWw-M/s1600/balweenarobe.jpg" height="640" width="522" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cuteness..........I can't...........<div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></td></tr></tbody></table><div><span style="font-size: large;">I watched her walk into the auditorium with her robe hanging unevenly due to the tutu, and blinked back tears. &nbsp;She was just a little nervous, but looking forward to her performance.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-A3UrrKynGIc/VT42wPHKpjI/AAAAAAAAC3Q/7y4zQlTvE40/s1600/riobalweena.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-A3UrrKynGIc/VT42wPHKpjI/AAAAAAAAC3Q/7y4zQlTvE40/s1600/riobalweena.jpg" height="640" width="514" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anything anyone might need is packed in those bags. &nbsp;That momma has it goin' on, yo.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Her mother, my bonus daughter, had worked all morning to get everything together and ready and despite the fact that she is carrying another baby, she never slowed down or forgot a single thing. &nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NsFa1tqnaMc/VT43j4LbdGI/AAAAAAAAC3Y/Ssv_jB2GxlI/s1600/onstage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NsFa1tqnaMc/VT43j4LbdGI/AAAAAAAAC3Y/Ssv_jB2GxlI/s1600/onstage.jpg" height="640" width="264" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bright lights, maybe a little too bright........</td></tr></tbody></table><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Unlike myself, who had forgotten to bring my camera. &nbsp;I used my phone, and this was the only shot I got of her on stage. &nbsp;She is the one on the far left, and she did a wonderful job.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EVOwb-jQMiE/VT433Mo-j8I/AAAAAAAAC3g/K4d5_HYS-Jw/s1600/rosie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EVOwb-jQMiE/VT433Mo-j8I/AAAAAAAAC3g/K4d5_HYS-Jw/s1600/rosie.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rosie watches from the audience.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Those ballerinas had the entire audience mesmerized. &nbsp;Even the 2 year old's were good, with all that bling on the stage Rosie was captivated. &nbsp;She will have a performance of her own coming up, and can I just say that when the little ones come out you can hear the entire auditorium sigh? &nbsp;Seriously, all the little ones have to do to get applause is follow a bigger ballerina across the stage like so many ducklings, and you just melt. &nbsp;That is all they really have to do, just stand there with tutu's, and the world is their oyster. &nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pQB9b_TO1JU/VT446_UxZNI/AAAAAAAAC3o/9UVO3ViJSQE/s1600/balweenaroses2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pQB9b_TO1JU/VT446_UxZNI/AAAAAAAAC3o/9UVO3ViJSQE/s1600/balweenaroses2.jpg" height="640" width="342" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pink sweetheart roses, perfection.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">After the performance we gave our ballerina her roses. &nbsp;Just look at that posture! &nbsp;She already looks like a dancer, don't you think?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_sCI1uE4LrQ/VT45O8T0OEI/AAAAAAAAC3w/SMBWmiWymac/s1600/balweenaroses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_sCI1uE4LrQ/VT45O8T0OEI/AAAAAAAAC3w/SMBWmiWymac/s1600/balweenaroses.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A real ballerina, living the dream.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I did not mention that her lipstick was gone. &nbsp;She would have wanted to reapply and her mother would have killed me. &nbsp;I like her lips better natural anyway. &nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">As far as other performances go, she said she didn't want to dance anymore. &nbsp;Her mother told her that she had to pick one activity to be involved in and next she wants to do gymnastics. &nbsp;I am unclear on whether gymnasts wear lipstick......I'm thinking not, so it might get 'lost' for good this time.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I guess she figures she has lived the 'balweena' dream and now it's on to new dreams. &nbsp;It's getting a little hard to keep up, to be frank. &nbsp;Six year old's move pretty fast, but whatever is next, I will be there, cheering and supporting and being so grateful this child came into the world and my life. &nbsp;It seems like a lot longer than 6 years ago......can't wait to see what the next 6 hold.</span></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/k6h2_uW1lLo" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/04/tiny-dancers.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-17832759745607383002015-04-21T18:51:00.000-05:002015-04-21T18:51:14.578-05:00My Kitchen Window.......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I snapped some pictures of the crystal I have hanging in my kitchen window.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Outside the yard is freshly mowed.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ytxF5jOCbLE/VTbYxAl8YSI/AAAAAAAAC2M/Kk4irvaad_o/s1600/kitchenwindow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ytxF5jOCbLE/VTbYxAl8YSI/AAAAAAAAC2M/Kk4irvaad_o/s1600/kitchenwindow.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The seeds are coming up. &nbsp;So far the Sweet Peas are doing the best.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aeiKClyjuW8/VTbg0gPbd0I/AAAAAAAAC2c/fVdeNeVEv1w/s1600/kitchen3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aeiKClyjuW8/VTbg0gPbd0I/AAAAAAAAC2c/fVdeNeVEv1w/s1600/kitchen3.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I continue to kill flies at a rate that I would find disturbing if I were killing any other creature.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">But I'm good.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PCSeu9H1lKI/VTbg-CLLlwI/AAAAAAAAC2k/WLm0o6wrS-o/s1600/kitchen2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PCSeu9H1lKI/VTbg-CLLlwI/AAAAAAAAC2k/WLm0o6wrS-o/s1600/kitchen2.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Every afternoon the sun shines in and this crystal fills the kitchen with rainbows.</span></div><script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-22071187-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); </script><br /><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yMjnHfb0i7E/VTbhEdT4oXI/AAAAAAAAC2s/9jRItT3vp54/s1600/kitchen4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yMjnHfb0i7E/VTbhEdT4oXI/AAAAAAAAC2s/9jRItT3vp54/s1600/kitchen4.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Just counting my blessings for today.</span></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/RPjUhDBIBac" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/04/my-kitchen-window.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-40621489747438914092015-04-20T18:07:00.002-05:002015-04-20T18:07:54.533-05:00Dry Summer?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GID6M-4to78/VTWGZut9VjI/AAAAAAAAC18/WCIjfT50bWc/s1600/lotsaseeds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GID6M-4to78/VTWGZut9VjI/AAAAAAAAC18/WCIjfT50bWc/s1600/lotsaseeds.jpg" height="640" width="630" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Check out all the seeds on the Maples this year.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I would say it's going to be a dry summer.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I've never seen so many. &nbsp;This whole tree is like this and today they've been flying everywhere in the wind.</div><script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-22071187-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); </script><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/_K9EuYcOM48" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/04/dry-summer.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-85819223765179779852015-04-18T09:23:00.000-05:002015-04-18T09:23:23.160-05:00Turtles, Tents, and Empty Nests.....<span style="font-size: large;">It's just me and the dogs this morning. &nbsp;The boys are sleeping in. &nbsp;I treasure my mornings alone, except for the dogs, these days, but sometimes..........</span><script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-22071187-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); </script><br /><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">It's raining quite hard. &nbsp;I looked out the front door and saw a turtle running across the road. &nbsp;Yes, running. &nbsp;You would be surprised how quick turtles can move in hard rain. &nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JZ7-YJHLHRk/VTJmhr0AdxI/AAAAAAAAC1k/Mdo-hzenXS8/s1600/turtle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JZ7-YJHLHRk/VTJmhr0AdxI/AAAAAAAAC1k/Mdo-hzenXS8/s1600/turtle.jpg" height="640" width="478" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">This is when I really miss having little kids. &nbsp;They would be up with me and would have run out to take his picture with me. &nbsp;By now we would have him warmly&nbsp;ensconced&nbsp;in a nice box, with water and lettuce and&nbsp;would have already named him Harvey. &nbsp;But instead I just came back inside.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Where I was greeted with the dogs freaking out because it was raining and I had left them for 2 minutes. &nbsp;Now, I am going to tell you this. &nbsp;Don't laugh. &nbsp;Or do, go ahead. &nbsp;It is kind of funny but may also be a totally legitimate symptom of "empty nest syndrome". &nbsp;Some people would not tell such things on themselves, but that would not be me.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C0UY5_0veHo/VTJnYMaY6ZI/AAAAAAAAC1s/rnV2OyyelRw/s1600/dogtent.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C0UY5_0veHo/VTJnYMaY6ZI/AAAAAAAAC1s/rnV2OyyelRw/s1600/dogtent.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>I made the dogs a tent.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">You laughed, didn't you? &nbsp;Oh well. &nbsp;Since I like to sit on the back porch and drink coffee and blog, and since it has a roof you can hear the rain on and lots of windows I can open, and since the rain either hurts the dogs ears or scares them, and since Shadow particularly likes to only be under my legs at these times, I made them a tent. &nbsp;I used the kitchen table and two comforters that need to be washed. &nbsp;This is no time for laundry.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">This is what middle age is like, I guess. &nbsp;Being happy that you don't have little kids to run you ragged and then wishing you did and substituting dogs instead. &nbsp;The dogs have not gotten into their tent. &nbsp;I suppose I'll have to get in there, too...........dogs and children are remarkably similar. &nbsp;Just sayin.</span></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/cOySEsvL2Ak" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/04/turtles-tents-and-empty-nests.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-3443864349096958972015-04-17T06:00:00.000-05:002015-04-17T06:00:08.483-05:00I Spy.......<span style="font-size: large;">Saw these guys hanging out in the yard of a house today.</span><script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-22071187-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); </script><br /><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DZr6XOhXf2o/VTBRN4-O8UI/AAAAAAAAC1E/mGvUqlMK-tQ/s1600/chickens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DZr6XOhXf2o/VTBRN4-O8UI/AAAAAAAAC1E/mGvUqlMK-tQ/s1600/chickens.jpg" height="640" width="478" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Well, hello chickens, I said. &nbsp;They paid me no attention whatsoever.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Then I happened to look down from the porch. &nbsp;Do you see it?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0viu4S9yRCk/VTBRd2sw8zI/AAAAAAAAC1M/f1jtg93MDIQ/s1600/nest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0viu4S9yRCk/VTBRd2sw8zI/AAAAAAAAC1M/f1jtg93MDIQ/s1600/nest.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Under the rose bush, there is a nest. &nbsp;A nest with two eggs. &nbsp;Maybe it didn't belong to any of these chickens. &nbsp;They didn't seem to care that I was standing there, at any rate.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6jqlvSmAoWg/VTBRwZafa0I/AAAAAAAAC1U/OyBnh6itkWU/s1600/eggs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6jqlvSmAoWg/VTBRwZafa0I/AAAAAAAAC1U/OyBnh6itkWU/s1600/eggs.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I guess your mother will be back soon, you two. &nbsp;I hope so, anyway.</span></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/cUgI00N7_vo" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/04/i-spy.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-4259067149380855162015-04-16T06:26:00.000-05:002015-04-16T06:26:16.234-05:00Oh, I Love My Rosie Child........<span style="font-size: large;">I got to spend a few days with my bonus daughter to watch Rosie. &nbsp;It was heaven on earth for me. &nbsp;I have missed seeing her like I did Abigail when she was small. &nbsp;Rosie is a very happy child. &nbsp;Rosie and her Mimi got some time together and we had a very good time.</span><br /><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The first morning when I got there I had to bribe her to take a bath. &nbsp;The bribe I used was her phone. &nbsp;Abigail and Rosie have a phone. &nbsp;I did not know this but Rosie led me right to where it was plugged in to charge. &nbsp;I had no idea how to run the phone, but Rosie did.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">After her bath she also picked out her own outfit. &nbsp;It had a sweatshirt that zipped up the front. &nbsp;I started to zip it up for her but I had forgotten Rosie is 2.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-k2WZTiDInQE/VS2hinTXCpI/AAAAAAAACzU/yvMC8MeCFTk/s1600/rosie1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-k2WZTiDInQE/VS2hinTXCpI/AAAAAAAACzU/yvMC8MeCFTk/s1600/rosie1.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">"I tan do it mysef", she informed me, resisting all help I offered.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TPDcDI2MgpQ/VS2iPRtZANI/AAAAAAAACzc/N3-lDbN1gWk/s1600/rosie2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TPDcDI2MgpQ/VS2iPRtZANI/AAAAAAAACzc/N3-lDbN1gWk/s1600/rosie2.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">And so she did. &nbsp;She could also brush her hair herself, and that was fine with me. &nbsp;I have yet to forget the stress that combing Abigail's hair put me through. &nbsp;No one would see us anyway. &nbsp;I learned a long time ago not to sweat the small stuff.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Rosie showed me everything, inside and outside the house. &nbsp;She quickly forgot about her phone when I mentioned "outside".</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-60OB-IIRlCA/VS2iwlQJrYI/AAAAAAAACzk/XrIB752C0D0/s1600/rosie3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-60OB-IIRlCA/VS2iwlQJrYI/AAAAAAAACzk/XrIB752C0D0/s1600/rosie3.jpg" height="640" width="406" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-22071187-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); </script><br /><div><span style="font-size: large;">Outside I discovered that Rosie is the Jumping Queen of the Trampoline. &nbsp;With a tutu and glittering shoes, she jumped off and on all day. &nbsp;She wanted me to jump with her. &nbsp;I told her I couldn't because I'm an old grandma now and when I jump on trampolines it makes me pee my pants. &nbsp;Just a little bit. &nbsp;She solemnly took this information in, repeated it after me, and did not ask me to jump again.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The second day I decided to get in there and clean out some sticks and leaves that had found their way into her trampoline. &nbsp;She looked at me, dead serious, and said "Don't pee." &nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">"What?", I asked, looking at her in confusion.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">"Don't pee", she repeated, her eyes not wavering. &nbsp;I had forgotten all about telling her that the day before, then I laughed when I remembered.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">"I won't", I assured her, and so I just sat there, picking up sticks and leaves, while she watched me and made sure I didn't pee on her trampoline.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Two year old's have minds like steel traps. &nbsp;I can't remember the last time anyone listened to me like she does. &nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cPU5fZdVCYY/VS2jR_GI70I/AAAAAAAACzs/YVwr0Isawrc/s1600/rosie4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cPU5fZdVCYY/VS2jR_GI70I/AAAAAAAACzs/YVwr0Isawrc/s1600/rosie4.jpg" height="640" width="478" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">She gave me the tour. &nbsp;We identified several types of wild flowers growing in her yard and pulled weeds out of the cracks between the tiles. &nbsp;She led the way to the pool.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hxo06uHS0Xw/VS2kKBu8cMI/AAAAAAAACz0/sA_rpdO6rBQ/s1600/rosie5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hxo06uHS0Xw/VS2kKBu8cMI/AAAAAAAACz0/sA_rpdO6rBQ/s1600/rosie5.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></div></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">She told me not to get in the water. &nbsp;I said no problem, that it wasn't time yet anyway.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7pHmdPCo4Cc/VS2kRAwPKeI/AAAAAAAACz8/NfMQkaQ9umg/s1600/rosie6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7pHmdPCo4Cc/VS2kRAwPKeI/AAAAAAAACz8/NfMQkaQ9umg/s1600/rosie6.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I held her up and let her pick some blooms off a tree. &nbsp;She thought they were very beautiful, and smelled good, too.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o_Ur38RgroA/VS2kXCLjD_I/AAAAAAAAC0E/Udnfm2_eFq4/s1600/rosie7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o_Ur38RgroA/VS2kXCLjD_I/AAAAAAAAC0E/Udnfm2_eFq4/s1600/rosie7.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I managed to talk her out of opening this gate. &nbsp;She graciously stopped, but she knew exactly how. &nbsp;If you want to know something, ask a 2 year old. &nbsp;They know everything, I swear.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Not only did Rosie know how to work her own phone, but she knew how to work mine. &nbsp;Mine happens to have pictures from the day she was born until now, and she was really thrilled with that. &nbsp;She would pull up the first time Abigail ever held her, and stare in wonder that she used to be so small. &nbsp;I, too, stared in wonder at exactly the same thing. &nbsp;She called my father at least 3 times in 2 days, until he gave up trying to talk to her, adding entertainment to his day.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Rosie loves her babies even more than being the Queen of the Trampoline.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NZySQM2hNWo/VS2kfUpCJAI/AAAAAAAAC0M/r_iviuazlBs/s1600/rosie9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NZySQM2hNWo/VS2kfUpCJAI/AAAAAAAAC0M/r_iviuazlBs/s1600/rosie9.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">She is getting ready to be a big sister, as well as a little sister. &nbsp;I told her I thought it would be so much fun to get to be both. &nbsp;On these days, she was concentrating on her "boy baby". &nbsp;You can tell he's a boy because of the Royals shirt he wears. &nbsp;He came with us on all our travels, complete with a stroller, blanket, and a diaper bag, all remembered and gotten by Rosie herself. &nbsp;She knows how to wrap him up in his blanket, make sure the sun doesn't get in his eyes, and strap him in so he doesn't fall out.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8pD1OVbjQWU/VS2kmMbO_PI/AAAAAAAAC0U/GCOkBOi8isI/s1600/rosie10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8pD1OVbjQWU/VS2kmMbO_PI/AAAAAAAAC0U/GCOkBOi8isI/s1600/rosie10.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I sang her a few bars of&nbsp;<span style="color: red;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s6FfjlxZLTk" target="_blank">her song</a>&nbsp;</span>but she just said "I not a store-bought woman!!" and then wanted to know what that was. &nbsp;She was very touched that someone had written a song about her. &nbsp;I told her that the best part was "cracklin Rosie make me smile", and we looked it up and danced to it thanks to youtube. &nbsp;Youtube is one of the best parts of the modern world in my opinion.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M0pgfaffG7w/VS2krfr53GI/AAAAAAAAC0c/-S0-01a0UAc/s1600/rosie11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M0pgfaffG7w/VS2krfr53GI/AAAAAAAAC0c/-S0-01a0UAc/s1600/rosie11.jpg" height="582" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Frequent dismounts were called for if he would "cry", and she would pick him up, rock him side to side to while making the "shh-shh shh-shhh" noise instinctively known by all mothers of all babies everywhere. &nbsp;She would strap him back into his stroller while saying "It's okay......I gah choo....."</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gR3jaRIoYiU/VS2kzTbiC3I/AAAAAAAAC0k/KeVNkpp4Uog/s1600/rosie12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gR3jaRIoYiU/VS2kzTbiC3I/AAAAAAAAC0k/KeVNkpp4Uog/s1600/rosie12.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">On my last day there, we celebrated by eating outside, which was Rosie's dream that day. &nbsp;Also her dream, to drink coffee. &nbsp;This turned out not to be about the "coffee" as much as the "cup". &nbsp;Rosie's parents do not have an coffee, but they do have an impressive collection of tea bags, most of which did not have caffeine. &nbsp;I drank all the ones with caffeine myself, and made Rosie some "coffee" in a cool cup which consisted of some Chamomile tea and milk. &nbsp;She was thrilled. &nbsp;We had "sammich"es of waffles folded over peanut butter and jelly for snack, and every time she would take a bite, she would turn to me and say "I drink my coffee!!" with the biggest laugh. &nbsp;It was so much fun to do so little and make such a sweet child so very happy. &nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">When her mother got home, Rosie got to tell her all about our adventures that day and I got to spend some time with my beloved Abigail. &nbsp;Abigail wanted me to sing a pirate song. &nbsp;I confess, I was never that into pirates, so I sang "16 bottles of rum on a dead man's chest", and she looked me dead in the eyes for a few seconds and then looked at me like I was nuts, and said "That doesn't even <i>ryhme</i>".....for all the world like I was some kind of idiot. &nbsp;Which was very true, I had to admit. &nbsp;That's the way I remember it, anyway. &nbsp;Maybe we should have looked it up on youtube! &nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Then, in what was possibly the funniest moment of all, she grabbed both sides of my face and put her face right in mine and said "Mimi! Do you remember the red lipstick??"</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qapiSXjPFSs/VS28uJ5jFLI/AAAAAAAAC00/tKyaoGevATY/s1600/makeover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qapiSXjPFSs/VS28uJ5jFLI/AAAAAAAAC00/tKyaoGevATY/s1600/makeover.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">How could I forget the red lipstick??? &nbsp;My lips were chapped for days. &nbsp;Apparently, after Abigail gave us those "makeovers" that day, the red lipstick mysteriously disappeared. &nbsp;I looked at her mother as I said that yes, I did remember the red lipstick and Abigail explained that she had lost it somehow, on that very day. &nbsp;Her mother silently smiled a small smile as she met my eyes, and I was reminded again how lucky I was to have this wonderful, determined and sometimes sneaky woman in my life. &nbsp;Sometimes that red lipstick simply must go. &nbsp;We moms gotta stick together.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/1K-oudr5I8o" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/04/oh-i-love-my-rosie-child.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-59729203827537266262015-04-15T07:32:00.000-05:002015-04-15T07:32:13.844-05:00Rain!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">We are getting a rainy but warm week here.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The flowers are making good progress.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The seeds are coming up!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I always plant my seeds for flowers during the waxing moon.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">These were planted during the last quarter before it was full.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Plants that make their treasures below the ground should be planted after the full moon, when the moon is waning.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I broke my own rule about throwing money away on annuals and went crazy and bought some Dianthus.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I can't resist Dianthus.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I added them in front of the basket.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XtPX0hiZRyM/VS0dqHiuKkI/AAAAAAAACyg/Y4jfXDSke5U/s1600/progressbasket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XtPX0hiZRyM/VS0dqHiuKkI/AAAAAAAACyg/Y4jfXDSke5U/s1600/progressbasket.jpg" height="574" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I put a Christmas tree stand to use as a pot for some Lobelia.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Lobelia is also an annual but I love it even more than Dianthus and I got a packet of seed for 20 cents.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I don't even count that as throwing money away.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">What's 20 cents in this world?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JxYJVFURRkk/VS0dw1y2VRI/AAAAAAAACyo/uOqFRh-3rss/s1600/lobelia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JxYJVFURRkk/VS0dw1y2VRI/AAAAAAAACyo/uOqFRh-3rss/s1600/lobelia.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I just flipped the stand upside down and there it was.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I think the blooms of Lobelia all around that dark green circle will be very pretty.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Here is a picture if you are unfamiliar with Lobelia.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's one of my favorites.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vykbhnv9KTk/VS0eeIeu8hI/AAAAAAAACy4/oO5KFVxUmYo/s1600/googleimagelobelia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vykbhnv9KTk/VS0eeIeu8hI/AAAAAAAACy4/oO5KFVxUmYo/s1600/googleimagelobelia.jpg" height="498" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The pot full of violets is also doing well, so far, with the diaper in the bottom to try to save some water.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">This could be due to the cloudy weather and frequent rain showers though.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The jury is still out on using the diaper in the bottom of the pot.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I think maybe it would have been better if I would have lined the bottom of the pot with clay before adding the diaper.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">We will see.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gVGDVP3lLgw/VS0d-HhW13I/AAAAAAAACyw/8-QIwEb5eHI/s1600/progressviolets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gVGDVP3lLgw/VS0d-HhW13I/AAAAAAAACyw/8-QIwEb5eHI/s1600/progressviolets.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps it was the phase of the moon that made the dogs dig a huge hole in the back yard. &nbsp;They have always dug holes but have seldom shown any focus or dedication.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">This time they dug the prettiest hole, about a foot deep and at least 15 inches wide, that I had ever seen.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Just one.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">So I possibly threw away $4.97 on a rose bush and threw it in there.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9wjqQ1RHAlQ/VS2en_9JgTI/AAAAAAAACzI/acbH5YYyuGQ/s1600/tearose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9wjqQ1RHAlQ/VS2en_9JgTI/AAAAAAAACzI/acbH5YYyuGQ/s1600/tearose.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's a pink Tea Rose and seems to be doing quite well so far. &nbsp;</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">This rainy week will help and then it will have full sun.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I hope it lives.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I may have to get it a trellis.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The package didn't say it was a climber so I guess we will have to wait and see.</span></div><script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-22071187-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); </script><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/-y5QQXDyQuk" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/04/rain.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-45309813600751528982015-04-14T08:59:00.000-05:002015-04-14T08:59:15.100-05:00.....All My Children.......<span style="font-size: large;">Finally, I was able to get all my children together for my birthday celebration. &nbsp;One thing about having multiple children is that it is very hard to get them all together at the same time. &nbsp;It won't get any easier, I know, and luckily I do not care what actual "day" this happens on. &nbsp;Whatever "day" it happens is always a good one, regardless of whether that is the actual "day" we are celebrating or not. &nbsp;It's a mom thing.</span><br /><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">My first request was to get a picture of all of us. &nbsp;This involved setting the timer on my camera, sitting it on the barbeque grill on The Rock Star's patio, and running to get into position. &nbsp;We didn't get a great shot, but we are all in it.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9dM6CMcxX9o/VSvFNgVhIxI/AAAAAAAACws/mkAlLmlLpk4/s1600/mykids501.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9dM6CMcxX9o/VSvFNgVhIxI/AAAAAAAACws/mkAlLmlLpk4/s1600/mykids501.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Youngest Baby, Rock Star, Rockette, Charli-girl, Beautiful Redhead, My Oldest Baby, and me, the mother of them all.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">It occurs to me that my children are pretty much grown. &nbsp;Look at that, My Youngest Baby is taller than the Rock Star! &nbsp;The Beautiful Redhead said she was in an awkward pose, so we took 1 more.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A79Ve9rr_dE/VSvFYX19fbI/AAAAAAAACw0/jMZq5EPGOfI/s1600/mykids50.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A79Ve9rr_dE/VSvFYX19fbI/AAAAAAAACw0/jMZq5EPGOfI/s1600/mykids50.JPG" height="476" width="640" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">I am confused as to how they all go so big, but I got a grandchild out of it, so I'm rolling with it.</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nbZRHB7-I-U/VSvJma42V_I/AAAAAAAACyQ/8xQTwpOqVJI/s1600/kenzcharli2.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nbZRHB7-I-U/VSvJma42V_I/AAAAAAAACyQ/8xQTwpOqVJI/s1600/kenzcharli2.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6aUL6t1rDq4/VSvFk6JGQjI/AAAAAAAACw8/nzK_uKl_V2o/s1600/myheart.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6aUL6t1rDq4/VSvFk6JGQjI/AAAAAAAACw8/nzK_uKl_V2o/s1600/myheart.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The queen of all our hearts.</span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2oJ28O9bnjs/VSvGD2h90vI/AAAAAAAACxU/E-NHj_Z6IJI/s1600/myseeds.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2oJ28O9bnjs/VSvGD2h90vI/AAAAAAAACxU/E-NHj_Z6IJI/s1600/myseeds.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">I wanted to get some pictures of all the kids, so the boys all pile in. &nbsp;Charli sees sunglasses! &nbsp;A prize for any 9 month old child.</span><br /><br /><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yMa6bDPbTls/VSvHDPG11tI/AAAAAAAACxk/wISCPu64nF0/s1600/allmyseeds.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yMa6bDPbTls/VSvHDPG11tI/AAAAAAAACxk/wISCPu64nF0/s1600/allmyseeds.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">But wait! &nbsp;Where is the Rockette? &nbsp;Turned out she was in the kitchen preparing beautiful, handmade cupcakes with candles that--HAD COLORED FLAMES, ya'll. &nbsp;Coolest thing I may have ever seen. &nbsp;She is like Martha Stewart, but better, I swear! &nbsp;She, also, is a nurturer. &nbsp;She also, can't seem to stop. &nbsp;I think she is a special present just for me! &nbsp;I call for her, there is the sound of running feet, and then here she is. &nbsp;Charli has successfully snagged the sunglasses from the back of her Youngest uncle's head. &nbsp;He hasn't even noticed. &nbsp;Victory for Charli! &nbsp;My Oldest Baby was about cropped out, but you can tell he is there. &nbsp;The twins got some sorely needed time with their brother, and my heart was full.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w7MUJi56nQQ/VSvHNG49Q0I/AAAAAAAACxs/8xTuIO05l8A/s1600/mygirls.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w7MUJi56nQQ/VSvHNG49Q0I/AAAAAAAACxs/8xTuIO05l8A/s1600/mygirls.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">After a wonderful meal and cupcakes, Charli was very tired. &nbsp;Her mother read her new Easter book to her and I watched that baby's feet. &nbsp;She has her mother's feet, we think. &nbsp;Just look at those little toes.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tHI27CmHmSw/VSvHTJXkH6I/AAAAAAAACx0/_3eEde-suxM/s1600/toesfingers.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tHI27CmHmSw/VSvHTJXkH6I/AAAAAAAACx0/_3eEde-suxM/s1600/toesfingers.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">A couple of times I thought she must be praying with those feet, she can almost fold them together like the rest of us do with our hands.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mLGy-vbdfWI/VSvHb9BZ8fI/AAAAAAAACx8/jS68KfQCTDY/s1600/charlissignaturemove.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mLGy-vbdfWI/VSvHb9BZ8fI/AAAAAAAACx8/jS68KfQCTDY/s1600/charlissignaturemove.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then it happened. &nbsp;Charli's signature move. &nbsp;When she is tired she puts her hand on her forehead, as if to say "Oh my, it's been a long day, I think I must lie down for a bit." &nbsp;That's not even all. &nbsp;See the look on the Beautiful Redhead? &nbsp;Also her sign that she is tired. &nbsp;Perhaps only her father and I would recognize it, but that is it.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qmRs7mocyjs/VSvHwW1ibGI/AAAAAAAACyE/9UiHz8vTooc/s1600/charlissignaturemove.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qmRs7mocyjs/VSvHwW1ibGI/AAAAAAAACyE/9UiHz8vTooc/s1600/charlissignaturemove.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Just look at that. &nbsp;It melts my heart every time. &nbsp;I am so thankful for a grandchild with parents who love each other. &nbsp;She has a beautiful house where she is treasured above all every single day and night. &nbsp;She has lots of family and any one of them might snuggle up and take a nap with her any time she wants. &nbsp;This time it was the Beautiful Redhead. &nbsp;To hear her offer to lay down with her niece made me look forward to her having her own baby. &nbsp;The years flashed by in my head in a blur, and I realized that this is real. &nbsp;This is my life. &nbsp;I love it so much. &nbsp;Sorry, Beautiful Redhead, but you knew this. &nbsp;I waited for a very long time for grand children of my own. &nbsp;Totally worth the wait, but I wait still for the rest of them. &nbsp;It's a mother thing. &nbsp;You will understand. &nbsp;Someday. &nbsp;The story never ends, you know. &nbsp;Or perhaps I should say "the neverending story continues"? &nbsp;So many happy hours I spent with my older two watching that wonderful movie. &nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">It's just going to keep on going. &nbsp;Eventually, someone else will take up the telling of this story. &nbsp;</span><span style="font-size: large;">I wonder who it will be? &nbsp;We will just have to wait and see what happens next. &nbsp;I can't wait. &nbsp;What happened next this time was the Rockette went back to check on our girls and came back gushing about how sweet they looked asleep together, and it hit me: I am not the only mother around here anymore. &nbsp;What a relief this is. &nbsp;What a blessing for this wonderful, strong woman to have landed in <i>our</i> family. &nbsp;You never know what lies around the corner, but I am so glad our family went around that particular corner. &nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Happy 50th to me, colored candles and all. &nbsp;Thank you, God, for my many blessings. &nbsp;May I be worthy of them.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/jKQ2_0OaTZ8" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/04/all-my-children.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-5514496446959573792015-04-13T08:11:00.000-05:002015-04-13T08:11:38.660-05:00On Dandelions and Legacies........*UNDERCOVER NOTE FROM AUTHOR: So, I've been blogging every day. &nbsp;I'm not going to mention it, because I did not plan that, I do not know where it is coming from, and basically have no idea what is going on with <strike>that</strike> this. &nbsp;Since I've been waiting to see what I was supposed to do next, been willing to do it, and really haven't cared what it is, I'm just going with whatever happens. &nbsp;It's been a very good period for me, probably much like people who go away to "rest" after a nervous breakdown. &nbsp;Odd, I know, but there it is. <br />I have no idea how long it may continue or where it might go, but who ever really does? &nbsp;Let's just not mention it further and see what comes next. &nbsp;;)*<br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I started this blog in January of 2011. &nbsp;There is something<b>&nbsp;</b>that&nbsp;<b>I </b>certainly have never brought up except to lament the fact that I don't do it, but you are supposed to do this every day. &nbsp;Blog, that is. &nbsp;I don't really care if anybody does it every day, but when they just stop?? &nbsp;And you're wondering if they died or some kind of horrible hospital stay in their life and so were unable to let you know that...well, they are still alive???? &nbsp;You try to remember how old their kids were the last time you saw them, and when that was??? &nbsp;Then you wonder if you are what would be considered a "stalker"??? &nbsp;That's very upsetting. &nbsp;But hey, it's their blog. &nbsp;They can do, or not do, what they want. &nbsp;They would tell me to get my own and I would say, Hello!! &nbsp;I did!! &nbsp;Anyway, if you are still coming here and know me from your blog that you have abandoned, I miss you and hope you are doing well.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">In 4 years this is my 225th post. &nbsp;That's just how I roll. &nbsp;I'm all right with it, and very unconcerned about how other people feel about that. &nbsp;But I do so appreciate the friends I've made through this little blog and the loved ones who care enough to keep up with it. &nbsp;You know who you are. &nbsp;It has been a very strange and exciting journey, these years, and has helped me in many ways. &nbsp;I hope it has helped you too, if only by giving bad examples and citing mistakes made. &nbsp;And to the few nutzoids that I've corresponded with and also this blog to thank for? &nbsp;I wish you peace. &nbsp;I really do, and that is all.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br /><div><span style="font-size: large;">It's been 3 years since I wrote&nbsp;<span style="color: red;"><a href="http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2012/03/secret-of-life.html" target="_blank">This Post</a>&nbsp;</span>on The Secret of Life, Abigail was 4, and she picked every single dandelion out of my front yard one day. &nbsp;She was into filling up a little bucket I had, and it didn't hurt her back to bend over, and she picked every single one. &nbsp;That was a<u> lot</u>. &nbsp;She had "very many" dandelions in her bucket. &nbsp;The next day she got up and was bamboozled to discover that they had grown back!! &nbsp;We considered it a miracle! &nbsp;I will never forget her face that day.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">That experience had the affect on me of never looking at a dandelion the same way again. &nbsp;I hope it had the same affect on you too. &nbsp;Why? &nbsp;Because within the dandelion lies the core of the secret of life.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">It's the most common thing in the world; ignored by many, despised by most, appreciated by very few. &nbsp;Most people don't even give them a thought, unless it's to plan to kill them, and yet Dandelions will be blooming and seeding still, on the day they bury each one of us. &nbsp;As children we believe that wishes made on seeded dandelion heads would come true if we blew on them and the seeds flew away. &nbsp;At some point most of us quit believing.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The Dandelion has long been the eternal thorn in the side of anyone who likes "landscaping". &nbsp;The Dandelion has roots that run very deep, and are edible, as are the many copious flowers that it produces. &nbsp;Even if you pick every bloom out of your yard, the next day the Dandelion just sends up more. &nbsp;These blooms, even if picked, will seed themselves and send out hundreds, nay, thousands, nay(!) MILLIONS (!!) of seeds. &nbsp;Many will be lost to the wind, never finding land to sink roots into, but more will sink in and start again. &nbsp;The Dandelion understands the odds. &nbsp;The Dandelion does not shrink in fear or weep for lost seeds that never find fruition. &nbsp;That's just life. &nbsp;The Dandelion just keeps it's own counsel and does what it was born to do, despite what the world will do to itself. &nbsp;The Dandelion will not only survive, it will thrive.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">It reminds me of some people I know, and age has no bearing on that. &nbsp;It's more of a spirit thing. &nbsp;People either have it or they don't. &nbsp;Most of us are born with it, but sometimes it gets worn down and some never recover from that mortal blow. &nbsp;Other times, people discover their own strength at the strangest times and just run with it. &nbsp;Life, after all, is not really that hard, if you are willing to just show up and keep going. &nbsp;We trap ourselves, often, by not being willing to forget bad things that happened to us. &nbsp;A lot of good things probably happened to us after that, but we choose not to think about those things. &nbsp;Why? &nbsp;<i>I don't know either, I am really asking.</i> &nbsp;I do know that it's a choice, whether you realize it or not. &nbsp;Take back your power, and smile. &nbsp;Life goes on, and you might as well enjoy it because it will end sooner or later. &nbsp;I hope you choose to keep going and enjoy the ride. &nbsp;<i>No, I don't know where we are going either. &nbsp;</i>But we are going, so smile.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Recently I have been obsessed with the work of&nbsp;<a href="http://www.fantasywire.co.uk/" style="color: red;" target="_blank">Fantasy Wire</a>&nbsp;in the UK. &nbsp;I don't know what made them pick Dandelions, but check out their work if you love Fairies, sculpture or Dandelions. &nbsp;I think you will be amazed. &nbsp;I was. &nbsp;This one is a weather vane, a big one, and it's called 1 O'clock Wish.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TxlENy_WF2E/VSfoALvuAlI/AAAAAAAACsU/lWLcHlrlgmA/s1600/wirescultturebyFanasyWirework2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TxlENy_WF2E/VSfoALvuAlI/AAAAAAAACsU/lWLcHlrlgmA/s1600/wirescultturebyFanasyWirework2.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">This blog post started to sink it's roots in around that time, and I have been mulling it over ever since.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I lost my job last year. &nbsp;I am now 50 years old. I have a trip to Germany planned for 3 weeks this summer, so I'm only looking for part-time work right now. &nbsp;I am not too enthusiastic about going back to a desk. &nbsp;At all. &nbsp;I can do anything I want with the last few years before retirement. &nbsp;It kind of blows my mind that I consider 12 years a "last few", but I do. &nbsp;I can say that without a qualm and someday, if you live long enough, you will be able to, too. &nbsp;<i>Yes, it's weird, but not scary</i>. &nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">The state of nursing homes in our land is rather abysmal&nbsp;and I hope I never end up in one. &nbsp;I would, simply put, rather die. &nbsp;I am a nurturer, I can't seem to help it. &nbsp;I am pretty sure that is why I was born. &nbsp;With all the cold reality setting in around me, it occurred to me that elder care would be a thing I would love, could support myself doing, and would be cheaper done at home than the often shoddy and terrifying experiences of people in nursing homes. &nbsp;I could tell you these stories, but it's sad and I am sure you have your own. &nbsp;To give credit where it is due, I know many very good nursing homes also. &nbsp;But not all......so I will leave it at that. &nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I looked at the pictures of Fantasy Wire's work and contemplated the seeds that Dandelions produce. &nbsp;How those plants thrive under almost any conditions and never worry about whether they will survive any kind of apocalypse. &nbsp;They just bloom where they are planted and live their life,&nbsp;</span><span style="font-size: large;">kind of like old people. &nbsp;Also like old people, they leave seeds that fly all over their world, some that won't root for a long time, but will eventually. &nbsp;Some will take root in ways that the person who sent the seed out would never have imagined. &nbsp;Often, actually. &nbsp;Some words they dropped into a child's ear and never thought of again will one day come back to that child as an answer to an unasked question. &nbsp;Resolve will bloom in that child's soul and they will simply think "the answer was inside me all along". &nbsp;They may never remember exactly why but that doesn't matter. &nbsp;The seed took root and will bloom.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VlgfVToMAjk/VSfoE7hItKI/AAAAAAAACsc/CR6sDFk7J5s/s1600/wiresculptureby%2BFantasywirework.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VlgfVToMAjk/VSfoE7hItKI/AAAAAAAACsc/CR6sDFk7J5s/s1600/wiresculptureby%2BFantasywirework.jpg" height="640" width="426" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">In my own life I have had moments where something a grandparent or my own mother said or did that I forgot about for years until it just came to me. &nbsp;It came when I needed to remember it. &nbsp; Seeds that flew by on the wind years ago, finally rooted and blooming and carrying on. &nbsp;Dandelions speak to me because I am one, in a way. &nbsp;<i>We all are.&nbsp;</i> It's my turn now to bloom and send my own seeds on their way. &nbsp;All throughout our lives we are blooming and seeding ourselves, many times unknowingly. &nbsp;Don't worry. &nbsp;I believe it is all part of a plan, and I know God is in control.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Will Abigail ever remember that day? &nbsp;I am sure I explained how Dandelions send out seeds. &nbsp;I know we dug up a root. &nbsp;They are impressive, she may remember that now. &nbsp;I know we have made many wishes on the seeded tops and joyfully blown seeds all over creation in our world many times. &nbsp;I told Abigail that those wishes were real, and that the seeds would carry them. &nbsp;I never stopped believing that was true, and I hope she never does either. &nbsp; Some day, perhaps she will be making comparisons to Dandelions and the seeds that I planted with her. &nbsp;I've done that with children all my life, and my own Charli girl is getting old enough to listen to my stories, too. &nbsp;We scatter our legacies like the world scatters Dandelion's seeds. &nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">When we get old, we have boxes of pictures, journals, keepsakes and memorabilia that may only mean something to us. &nbsp;If anyone else actually knew what it was, it would mean something to them also. &nbsp;Maybe it would mean a lot. &nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I am sure that my grandparent's told me who was in all those old pictures at some point; but I forgot. &nbsp;What if I could spend my days with a person going through their old pictures? &nbsp;Documenting their stories? &nbsp;I did that as a child with my own grandmother, I did it with my mother before her death, I've been doing it ever since. &nbsp;I could also sweep, make lunch, throw something in the crock pot for supper, and still do that.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">My thoughts continued. &nbsp;I have always taken care of babies, and still love to. &nbsp;They are my first, and possibly my last, love. &nbsp;However, I cannot run after those babies anymore. &nbsp;Getting down on the floor is fine, but getting back up takes longer than it used to and frankly, I prefer not to do it. &nbsp;But elder care.........that is going to be a good job to have, at the age I am now. &nbsp;I can listen to, and document, people's stories all day long. &nbsp;I love their stories. &nbsp;It doesn't matter how small they are or how much they think no one else would be interested. &nbsp;I know for a fact that after they are gone, after the seeds have all flown and their children and grandchildren are feeling so alone, they are going to want to know. &nbsp;Even if they didn't before, which I certainly hope they did, but you know how <u>kids</u> are. &nbsp;I know you know because we were all kids at one point and I think we all did the same thing. &nbsp;Kids do not pay attention and later they are so sorry. &nbsp;But that's life. &nbsp;And I could make that easier on them.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">That napkin that looks like trash to them and would go right into the trash bag may be the one their grandmother saved from the first night she met &nbsp;their grandfather. &nbsp;That was the night that sparked a thousand more, and eventually the people who are sorting through this box of memories. &nbsp; &nbsp;It gets better; that wedding ring charm that they can't find the bracelet to go with; she pawned it to buy seeds so her husband could feed their babies in the summer of '32. &nbsp;She never told him. &nbsp;She didn't want to hurt his feelings because it was the only piece of jewelry he could ever afford to buy her. &nbsp;She worried about not telling him, but then he never seemed to notice, and she never knew for sure whether he figured it out or not.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-size: large;"><i>I totally just made that up but I swear to you on all that is holy, there are stories just exactly like this among one of your relative's&nbsp;souvenirs. &nbsp;Maybe the stories are even better.</i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">This was feeling like a really good idea. &nbsp;Who doesn't need someone to come in and stay with their sick child because where they work has a point system and the child isn't sick enough to go to the Dr. but is too sick to go to school? &nbsp;What if there was an older woman you could call to come sit with your child? &nbsp;To tell Dandelion stories and give them frozen treats and make a bed for them on the couch where they can heal? &nbsp;You can go to work, think about that while you need to, and know that you will be coming home to a clean and orderly house, and just join the flow of your own ordinary life without having to make up for lost time. &nbsp;Supper will be ready when you are, and then you can snuggle with your sick little one, all without missing a beat or any one "job" suffering over any other. &nbsp;I feel for you. &nbsp;I lived that life for what turns out to be too long, but I remember exactly how horrible it was. &nbsp;I would have given anything for a woman like me. &nbsp;A grandma. &nbsp;Notice how all the grandma's work now? &nbsp;Thanks, "liberation"! &nbsp;*waves tiredly*</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Who hasn't had a sick loved one at home who needed them, but they had to go to work? &nbsp;It's awful. &nbsp;Your mind is not with you at work. &nbsp;It's imagining your poor parent has fallen and just laying there waiting for help. &nbsp;Your poor loved one is lonely, confused, perhaps they have that demon&nbsp;Alzheimer's, and you have a family to help, but you cannot possibly cover every minute of every day and night, even with your family helping. &nbsp;These things will happen to you eventually, if you know the odds. &nbsp;They have happened to me, and I know exactly what it is like and how hard it is.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps you just "get things slide" for too long, and your house is a mess and you have to host a family dinner next week and you need some help doing a deep clean. &nbsp;I'm your man. &nbsp;I know how it is, kid, I raised 4 kids myself and 2 dogs and I could tell you bagless vacuum cleaner stories that would make you feel like Mary freaking Poppins. &nbsp;Everybody has dirt. &nbsp;You are not special in this regard. &nbsp;Now get out of the way so I can mop. &nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Growing up, whenever we had a death in the family, which was kind of often, we had a ritual that seems a bit strange to me now. &nbsp;I never questioned it growing up, but now I'm wondering if we were considered strange, or if everybody did it. &nbsp;It's one of the things I still don't know and maybe never will. &nbsp;When we had a death in our family, we called a lady who lived in town that we had known all our lives, and she helped us clean the house of the deceased. &nbsp;We did not hire her to clean it <i>for</i> us. &nbsp;We all cleaned it together. &nbsp;It was, perhaps oddly, the way we coped. &nbsp;Someone would die, we would call a lady named Mary, and instead of taking to our beds and crying, we would clean the house and ready it for people to drop by. &nbsp;Then we would go home exhausted, take to our beds, and cry. &nbsp;But first things first. &nbsp;Strange or normal? &nbsp;Your call. &nbsp;I just thanked God for Mary. &nbsp;Still do. &nbsp;Whether she treasured ordinary life all along or got fed up with corporate crap and turned her back on it; also a &nbsp;mystery. &nbsp;See how it doesn't matter but works out in the end?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps you need someone to sit with your wife. &nbsp;"What would you do?", you might ask. &nbsp;Well, what is her ordinary life like? &nbsp;This is what I will do. &nbsp;What does your wife like to spend her days doing? &nbsp;Does she love her flowers? Her garden? &nbsp;Does she crochet? &nbsp;I do not, but I've been feeling terrible about never learning. &nbsp;Does she love to cook? &nbsp;So do I. &nbsp;Maybe we will spend days talking about her babies. &nbsp;I can take down all the information for them that will be lost with her. &nbsp;When they got their teeth, when they walked, what illnesses they went through, funny things they said when they were little. &nbsp;All these will be lost to the wind when she is gone. &nbsp;There are some things that only a mother remembers. &nbsp;Sad but very true. &nbsp;I can keep that from happening. &nbsp;Eventually, someone will want to know that, and you can take that to the bank.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I have experience with Alzheimer's and know that some days it's enough to let them paint. &nbsp;The walls. &nbsp;Of their house. &nbsp;Black and pink, perhaps. &nbsp;But it soothes them, they are <b>their</b> walls, after all, no one gets hurt or upset, and it's just paint. &nbsp;There may come a day when you let a person do something like this because they are so precious to you that you literally do not care what the walls look like. &nbsp;On that day, the fact that your wife or mother is in her own house, occupied and happy, and will be there when you return, will mean everything to you. &nbsp;Even if she is not exactly like she used to be. &nbsp;Even if there is crazy paint all over the walls; she will be there, &nbsp;she will be as all right as it is possible for her to be, and you will have one more day of memories with her. &nbsp;It will mean everything to you. &nbsp;I've lived that. &nbsp;It's worth more than anything, then.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I have experience with end-of-life care, more than I would actually like, but again; life. &nbsp;I know how important it is to certain person's dignity that they cross the river from home. &nbsp;I respect that. &nbsp;Nobody crosses that river alone, either. &nbsp;Don't worry. &nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">How did maintaining an ordinary life come to take extraordinary measures? &nbsp;This is what I asked myself. &nbsp;How did cherishing ordinary life work it's way out of our culture? &nbsp;Are these things even still considered "ordinary life" today? &nbsp;Well, any reader of this blog will know the answer to that. &nbsp;That, however, is not the point. &nbsp;The point is that we need to bring these things back. &nbsp;We need to focus on what is really important, and we need to do that before we are old and in need of a companion to help us maintain our ordinary, glorious, lives.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">So I decided to see what happened if I offered this service. &nbsp;I ordered business cards and everything. &nbsp;I used a Dandelion on them. &nbsp;There were so many reasons I couldn't even begin to fit them on a card; hence this post. &nbsp;Plus, I ordered them for practically nothing from&nbsp;<a href="http://www.vistaprint.com/category/business-cards.aspx?txi=15626&amp;xnid=TopNav_Business+Cards&amp;xnav=TopNav" style="color: red;" target="_blank">Vista Print</a>&nbsp;and the dandelion theme was already there. &nbsp;I took it as a God wink.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">This is the front, I apologize for the clarity but it was the best I could do.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ddgthmlc46I/VSf2PDvCxsI/AAAAAAAACss/sgbGX6wKmGw/s1600/extraordinary1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ddgthmlc46I/VSf2PDvCxsI/AAAAAAAACss/sgbGX6wKmGw/s1600/extraordinary1.jpg" height="360" width="640" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I chose Extraordinary Measures as a name. &nbsp;It's a little tongue in cheek, as am I, but I love the irony of ordinary life taking extraordinary measures these days. &nbsp;I think I'm finally the perfect age to do some good. &nbsp;I have been training since childhood. &nbsp;I probably should have a doctorate. &nbsp;In my world, I do. &nbsp;I actually <b>am</b> the modern day version of Mary freaking Poppins, minus the snazzy outfit and sadly, ability to fly. &nbsp;So far. &nbsp;Never in a million years would I have predicted it; but there it is.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">And the back:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kEaFUbhzeqU/VSf2X3zUYAI/AAAAAAAACs0/vlJf4uvrEK8/s1600/extraordinarymeasures.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kEaFUbhzeqU/VSf2X3zUYAI/AAAAAAAACs0/vlJf4uvrEK8/s1600/extraordinarymeasures.jpg" height="378" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I love living in the country. &nbsp;I am not too interested in going back to an office and sitting there until I die, or just wish that I had, while out there life is happening and I am missing it. &nbsp;I am surrounded by cows and good people who are getting on in years. &nbsp;I am positive they have wonderful stories to tell and I think I can both support myself and my new community in a valuable and "old fashioned" way that they will appreciate. &nbsp;I seems a little crazy but it feels right. &nbsp;I will do it privately in order to circumvent all those crazy no-common-sense- rules that govt. entities purporting to offer this same service use to choke any kind of logic or purpose out of their own creations. &nbsp;We will have none of that. &nbsp;If you have lived to be in your 80's and want salt on your green beans, have some salt. &nbsp;You have lived your entire life, raised a family, taken care of your debts and hoed your own row. &nbsp;And you would like to sit outside and have a beer? &nbsp;Cheers. &nbsp;To me, it's largely a matter of respect, but honor and dignity are in there, too.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">People will still have control over their own lives. &nbsp;For those that do it their way, I am here. &nbsp;I think it might be my purpose. &nbsp;Finally! &nbsp;Finally a reason and a course to follow! &nbsp;How long did I wander around wondering why I was going through all this? &nbsp;Long. &nbsp;I put in hard work and I feel like I'm finally seeing the "why". &nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">It just feels right and I've reached the age where if it doesn't work out, well, I just know something else will. &nbsp;Those seeds are going to root somewhere, and you can bet on that.</span></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/aee16sD-oeg" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/04/on-dandelions-and-legacies.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-47339338690059485422015-04-12T06:00:00.000-05:002015-04-12T06:00:05.030-05:00Almost a Prayer.....Desiderata <span style="font-size: large;"><i>It's almost a prayer. &nbsp;It's good instruction for life. &nbsp;It's a poem, by Max Ehrmann, that was largely unknown during his lifetime. &nbsp;He wrote it in 1927, and died in 1945.</i></span><script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-22071187-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); </script><br /><div><span style="font-size: large;"><i>But it was used in a collection of devotional materials by a reverend in Maryland in 1956 and found it's way to us all, somehow, from there. &nbsp;What is meant to be.......will be.</i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><i>It has always spoken to me. &nbsp;In particular now the verse "Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth." &nbsp;I think it speaks to us all, no matter what stage you are in. &nbsp; I have always loved it, and it's Sunday. &nbsp;Enjoy.</i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Desiderata</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Max Erhmann</b></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Go placidly amid the noise and haste, remember what peace there may be in silence. &nbsp;&nbsp;</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>As far as possible, without surrender be on good terms with all persons.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Speak your truth quietly and clearly, and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexations to the spirit.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Be yourself.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Especially, do not feign affection.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is perennial as the grass.&nbsp;</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>But do not distress yourself with imaginings.&nbsp;</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Many fears are born of fatigue and&nbsp;loneliness.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. &nbsp;</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. &nbsp;</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations. &nbsp;</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>In the noise and confusion of life, keep peace with your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams it is still a beautiful world. &nbsp;</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Be cheerful.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Strive to be happy.</b></span></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/zOvixU7cv9w" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/04/almost-prayerdesiderata.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-46699504817717773452015-04-11T18:25:00.000-05:002015-04-11T18:25:06.517-05:00Prom.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It's that time of year.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Three very handsome men showed up at my door this evening.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xGtm0AjimwI/VSmidgLrz6I/AAAAAAAACtE/IxAUZ2oO4bw/s1600/prom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xGtm0AjimwI/VSmidgLrz6I/AAAAAAAACtE/IxAUZ2oO4bw/s1600/prom.jpg" height="572" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">They love the tuxes.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My oldest baby wanted the "Terminator" look....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A9IbAb5VZ8E/VSmq1PxpZ_I/AAAAAAAACtg/WBzQSi1OUaU/s1600/prom1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A9IbAb5VZ8E/VSmq1PxpZ_I/AAAAAAAACtg/WBzQSi1OUaU/s1600/prom1.jpg" height="634" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I had to insist that I get at least one without the glasses.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">They are almost men.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Still boys at heart, though. &nbsp;</div><script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-22071187-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); </script><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/6zs97GG7mug" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/04/prom.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-43822853456935390272015-04-11T09:00:00.000-05:002015-04-11T09:00:04.006-05:00Just a Thought and a Picture......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The sun shines in on a crystal vase full of tulips.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Below is a peachy carnival glass bowl of Nana's, full of Papa's crystals.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We make altars all the time.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Small acts of love.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">They all count.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d1O6P7C3bGM/VSfW1-BCZhI/AAAAAAAACsE/PVS31SFRyVM/s1600/tuplipsrocks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d1O6P7C3bGM/VSfW1-BCZhI/AAAAAAAACsE/PVS31SFRyVM/s1600/tuplipsrocks.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-22071187-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); </script><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/t6AeKISbgp0" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/04/just-thought-and-picture.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-14038958496430849752015-04-10T09:55:00.000-05:002015-04-10T09:55:42.842-05:00Diaper Obsessed Woman Spotted Again......<span style="font-size: large;">This has been a very high energy week for me. &nbsp;I'm just about exhausted. &nbsp;It's been supposed to rain since Tuesday, I've been frantically planting seeds and transplanting plants, and everything is ready for a good rain that has yet to show up. &nbsp;Every night my hands are dirty and I have to soak in the tub to get the dirt out from under my fingernails. &nbsp;It's been a great spring!</span><script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-22071187-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); </script><br /><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FPbHMFyPjME/VScD4qtoFpI/AAAAAAAACr0/c8IJ_GEuay8/s1600/violets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FPbHMFyPjME/VScD4qtoFpI/AAAAAAAACr0/c8IJ_GEuay8/s1600/violets.jpg" height="614" width="640" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I grabbed another diaper and put it in the bottom of the pot hanging above the basket of bulbs. &nbsp;The diaper went on the bottom with all the tab parts folded under. &nbsp;Then it got filled with water. &nbsp;To bursting. &nbsp;I don't even think anybody saw me. &nbsp;That's what I love so much about this place. &nbsp;No one is ever out, and if they are, they are doing something that has their complete attention. &nbsp;Adults! &nbsp;So refreshing!</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I tore off the top liner of the diaper, put in some potting soil, and then threw some white violets that were growing in the yard and had been dug up with a spoon by yours truly. &nbsp;Is there anything prettier than a basket of white violets in the spring? &nbsp;I think not. &nbsp;</span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I think it will work. &nbsp;If it doesn't and the violets die there are more in the yard. &nbsp;If they live I will put them closer to the house where the grass hasn't taken over yet and I plan to hold it at bay forever. &nbsp;The less I have to mow, the better life will be for me. &nbsp;Then I can pick something that I usually would not put in this basket because it always dried out so bad. &nbsp;All because of a diaper. &nbsp;Pause a moment and contemplate the impact this invention has had on our world. &nbsp;It's kind of momentous.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">So far I have one corner of a vast yard done. &nbsp;It's gonna be a long summer but that's where the wild flowers come in. &nbsp;I have Morning Glory and Honeysuckle planted all along the fence in back and the front porch. &nbsp;You can't lose with those two in Southern Missouri.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Plus there is all manner of climbing vines that is really good ground cover everywhere. &nbsp;I threw in some of that, too.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">There are pots of Lavender, Sweet Peas, Lily of the Valley, Asters, and other wild flowers germinating at this moment in the barrels. &nbsp;They do not need water, either, thanks to the diaper trick.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P3BS0cWhPS8/VSb-o9xbHFI/AAAAAAAACrY/ikeehj7IAgo/s1600/cornerdone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P3BS0cWhPS8/VSb-o9xbHFI/AAAAAAAACrY/ikeehj7IAgo/s1600/cornerdone.jpg" height="554" width="640" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I also threw down, and I do literally mean that, seeds for Poppies, Bachelor Buttons, Four O'Clocks, Daisys, and only God himself knows what else. &nbsp;There should be wild flowers and lavender all in front where the shrubs were.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I filled in a little in the front with some Irises that Janine, the heavenly neighbor, having an even more high energy week than myself, had dug up. &nbsp;She had apparently experienced a fit of what I like to call "spring cleaning" when it happens to me, and it occurred to her that she was tired of "keeping all this up". &nbsp;So there was a whole barrel of Irises that were old and all tangled up and I had to save them. &nbsp;IF I didn't, she was going to throw them away! &nbsp;Ock!! &nbsp;That woman could run the entire world. &nbsp;We should clone her. &nbsp;The strips in the picture below are those long roll-out fabric strips are supposedly full of seeds. &nbsp;We'll see.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nfmMgE-eiUg/VSb_dZXND4I/AAAAAAAACrg/DJTirlofItg/s1600/irises.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nfmMgE-eiUg/VSb_dZXND4I/AAAAAAAACrg/DJTirlofItg/s1600/irises.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">It looks kind of rough but if it ever rains we should see quite a display in a month or so. &nbsp;Or not. &nbsp;If it lives, it lives. &nbsp;If it doesn't, it doesn't. &nbsp;This is just life and seems to be easier and easier for me to accept as each year passes. &nbsp;It's quite a relief, I must say. &nbsp;This being old thing is all right with me so far.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">That's also my handy-dandy little "roller alonger", passed down from my dear mother, who spent many happy days with her rear end planted on that little wagon, bringing forth life from dirt. &nbsp;As does her daughter. &nbsp;It is probably called a garden wagon or some more logical name. &nbsp;Whatever it is called, you should get one. &nbsp;You will never get stuck on the ground unable to get up with this. &nbsp;Your knees will thank you. &nbsp;*sagely nods* &nbsp;The top lifts up so you can store your gloves, your trowels, your bug spray, whatever you like to keep with you. &nbsp;And it even has 2 cup holders on top. &nbsp;Did you know that is the #1 thing women google when researching new cars? &nbsp;It is. &nbsp;And whoever marketed this baby knew it. &nbsp;I give them a solid A.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The lilacs exploded as predicted, and the air has never smelled so good. &nbsp;Just look at all these blooms. &nbsp;Impressive and welcome!</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EVt41-qUn0A/VScDBWaO1WI/AAAAAAAACrs/slVku_H3-j0/s1600/lilacssplosion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EVt41-qUn0A/VScDBWaO1WI/AAAAAAAACrs/slVku_H3-j0/s1600/lilacssplosion.jpg" height="640" width="620" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">That reminds me. &nbsp;I forgot to get gas for the mower. &nbsp;It's outside time at my house. &nbsp;Oh well, I don't have to worry about that right now. &nbsp;<i>Now</i> it's time for another long soak in the tub. &nbsp;Whatever tomorrow holds will be here before I know it.</span></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/VTQP0ayqBSI" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/04/diaper-obsessed-woman-spotted-again.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-48491062003991665112015-04-09T07:00:00.000-05:002015-04-09T07:00:00.736-05:00Preparing The Soil.........<span style="font-size: large;">I had a day last week where I thought about being 50, putting in flower seeds, and doing things right.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">People will forgive a young person practically anything, but once you are 50 you are in a more responsible category.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">To my way of thinking.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I can't be just sprinkling seeds on the ground and then being disappointed when things don't turn out right, anymore.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I think.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, the electric land of Pinterest has shown me some solutions for the errors of my usual ways, and in a fit of efficiency, I 'prepared the soil'.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Yes. &nbsp;I did that. &nbsp;I really, really did.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I drug out my barrels.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I raked some leaves that I had been too tired to deal with last fall into the bottoms, so that all my water won't just run out the holes.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I admired the new grass coming up under where those leaves have lain for 6 months.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I put bags of potting soil (the cheapest I could find. &nbsp;It's <u>dirt,</u>&nbsp;after all, people) over the leaves.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I realized I had to go vote. &nbsp;I went to vote, voted, and spent the better part of an hour visiting with the ladies.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I pressed on to the glorious Dollar General, and I purchased, for $6.50, 31 Medium baby diapers. &nbsp;Which I enjoyed. &nbsp;I miss those days. &nbsp;Again, the cheapest I could find.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Why? &nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Because I was going to fill them to bursting with water and then mix the gel within into my potting soil so that my dirt would stay more moist.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Then my seeds would come up and I would have so many successes I would be able to transplant many varieties of beautiful&nbsp;perennials&nbsp;all over&nbsp;<strike>hell and creation </strike>&nbsp;my new yard.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">And never have to bother with this kind of thing again except for maybe with vegetables.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Of course with vegetables. &nbsp;They're next. &nbsp;But I don't have to worry about that on this day. &nbsp;See how I am focused now? &nbsp;Staying on track? &nbsp;It's a whole new side of me. The 50 year old side. &nbsp;So far, I gotta say I like it.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">So, while the people of the villages voted and visited, and the farmer of the cows across the road spread manure on his fields, I laid out 24 cute, powdery smelling diapers on top of potting soil in barrel halves on the south side of my house, which is the optimum sunnage spot.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">As any adult lady who knew what she was doing would. &nbsp;Ahem.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I will tell you that I sorely wished I had a person with a baby close because I could have just asked them for some gently used diapers and not had to buy any. &nbsp;It takes a lot more than some innocent baby pee to make me bat an eye these days.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">However, it was such an intimate and strange thing to ask people who do not know me and may understandably think I was a stark raving lunatic that I opted to just buy new. &nbsp;I may be honest, but I'm not stupid. &nbsp;Sometimes that is a very fine line to dance on.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">But it was kind of a waste. &nbsp;Anyway.</span><br /><div><script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-22071187-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); </script><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KhwWW5Xf1ig/VSQ9FjoNFcI/AAAAAAAACqk/bFGpoJHKeCg/s1600/preparingsoil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KhwWW5Xf1ig/VSQ9FjoNFcI/AAAAAAAACqk/bFGpoJHKeCg/s1600/preparingsoil.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">While the farmer hurt his neck trying to figure out what in God's name I was doing with so many diapers and no children in sight, and the manure flew all over the field for a great crop of hay, I drug out the garden hose. &nbsp;This hose was new, a thoughtful birthday gift from my brother and SIL, you know, Superman and Wonder Woman, which is 100 feet long because I'm too old to mess around with anything less these days. &nbsp;I ain't got all day and this hose will cover everything I need to be responsible for and then some. &nbsp;</span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IETskJGUKZA/VSQ9M9UfOLI/AAAAAAAACqs/gnD06cQv3F4/s1600/preparingsoil1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IETskJGUKZA/VSQ9M9UfOLI/AAAAAAAACqs/gnD06cQv3F4/s1600/preparingsoil1.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Imagine the farmer's &nbsp;surprise when I started "watering" the diapers. &nbsp;I Filled 24 diapers, laid out in neat rows, with water, at a slow rate. It took about 45 minutes and I went over them 4 or 5 times till they absorbed a lot of water and were near to bursting.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Pretty sure it was the dangedest thing that farmer probably ever saw. &nbsp;</span><span style="font-size: large;">But maybe his wife is on Pinterest too. &nbsp;You never know anymore.</span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pYepYAJQej8/VSQ9Zg-tozI/AAAAAAAACq0/lnheexK9c3s/s1600/preparingsoil2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pYepYAJQej8/VSQ9Zg-tozI/AAAAAAAACq0/lnheexK9c3s/s1600/preparingsoil2.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Once filled to nearly bursting, and those diapers will hold a LOT of water, my people, I tore off the top lining. &nbsp;Tore it off and turned the diaper upside down and inside out, and all that gel came off in nice clumps.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I think it would have held more water, too, but it doesn't matter.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">We had rain coming within 2 days.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">With any luck, (and who needs luck, now that I'm 50 and do things right?) a lot of that rain will be retained in the gel particles in this dirt and all the seeds will sprout 2 feet overnight.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">There is no harm in dreaming.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">That's the truth you know: &nbsp;You are never too old for dreaming.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I should make a plaque with that on it, actually.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Or you could, and send it to me.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Either way.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D0n3UhbXm-o/VSQ9fs7rlwI/AAAAAAAACq8/Tz-cp47Y9L0/s1600/preparingsoil3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D0n3UhbXm-o/VSQ9fs7rlwI/AAAAAAAACq8/Tz-cp47Y9L0/s1600/preparingsoil3.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">This is my finished product. &nbsp;The soil is prepared. The soil is prepared the correct way, with thought and time and seeds. &nbsp;I did this the right way, at the right time, because I am really an adult now.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">It also floated through my mind that I will try a diaper in the bottom of my round hanging basket. &nbsp;The one with the moss that always dries out so badly. &nbsp;I'm just going to trim the white parts of the diaper off and have that in the bottom to hold water. *just a genius idea I am throwing out there to you, my friends, because I know you love those pots too, and I also know everything you put in them usually dies. &nbsp;Older women know these things.*</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">In my world, life after 50 is lived with more thought, planning, and patience. &nbsp;With, dare I say it, a plan.&nbsp;</span><span style="font-size: large;">&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">I think it's the exhaustion that does it, really. &nbsp;Well, that and the never sleeping much. &nbsp;Let me just tell you now, these are a very powerful combination. &nbsp;If you think you can fight it, I won't argue with you. &nbsp;I fought it too. &nbsp;I did not win that fight. &nbsp;I became exhausted instead. &nbsp;Good luck to you &nbsp;though.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Finally, I find myself simply too tired <u>not</u> to make, and follow a plan. &nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Because I do not have time, or energy, to make 2 plans. &nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I know this because this is what I have done up till now. &nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Where do you think the exhaustion came from??&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Nay, now I stick with one plan. &nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">One plan that will work. &nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Because I wasn't born yesterday.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">What a relief that is. &nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Truly, I thought it would be much, much worse.</span><br /><br /></div></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/Tc2IpKNfxb4" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/04/preparing-soil.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-49061357209946020372015-04-08T20:16:00.000-05:002015-04-08T20:16:53.352-05:00Once Love Bears a Weight .............<span style="font-size: large;">I found this poem in one of my journals. &nbsp;I found it <i>mostl</i>y written and dated from 11-25-2007. &nbsp; I didn't work much more on it, because most of it felt just right. &nbsp;It could still use some work but it's 7 years old already. &nbsp;If it's ever going to see daylight, this is it.</span><br /><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-22071187-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); </script><br /><div><span style="font-size: large;">My mother had passed 2 1/2 years before. &nbsp;I was a single mother with 4 children still at home, with all the chaos that brings.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I had started drinking coffee and given up sleeping an entire night. &nbsp;I had learned to appreciate the quiet of the night and the comfort of having all your children in your home, asleep in their own beds. &nbsp;I was already starting to panic about those days passing so fast.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">It seemed like just when I got the routine down, the routine would change and everybody would need different stuff. &nbsp;It drove me ca-raaaaaaazy.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Thanksgiving was either looming or just past with Christmas looming and in those years I was having a very hard time getting into the holidays. &nbsp;A very. hard. time. &nbsp;Apathy had already set in and Abigail, who would be born (possibly) to snap me out of that, would still not be born for the better part of a year. &nbsp;Times were dark.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I was having trouble coming to terms with the fact that nothing would ever be the same again whilst&nbsp;simultaneously&nbsp;trying to pretend that nothing had changed and we were all fine. &nbsp;I don't, and didn't, and may never even know <u>why</u>. &nbsp;It's what I did. &nbsp;From what I can remember. &nbsp;I am glad I lived through them. &nbsp;Do what you want, if you find yourself in that place. &nbsp;There is no right way that I know of.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, I like it. &nbsp;I don't even really know what it's about, but I like it and all that was going on at the time. &nbsp;I was 42 years old when I wrote this.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Once Love Bears A Weight</i></b>......</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>This time of year</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>I weep slow tears</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Unexpectedly</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Slowly becoming aware</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>of missing some thing</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>instead of some one</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Becoming at home</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>with being alone</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Finding comfort in darkness and moonlight</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Taking joy in the time</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>That God sets aside</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>for the night to acknowledge it's secrets.</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>The tears are unbidden</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Within, joy is hidden</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Portents of healing and burdens</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Once love bears A weight,</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>A name and A shape,</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>You realize last chances come often.</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/ZNdxwO_nT1E" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/04/once-love-bears-weight.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-78714823729161704732015-04-08T09:59:00.001-05:002016-04-12T11:36:51.232-05:00Turns out I am a cold blooded, vicious killer......<div>The first week of being 50 has high-lighted an odd but notable new awareness of my ruthless side. &nbsp;Of course I've got one, <i>at least </i>one. &nbsp;Some need to be curbed and some need to be encouraged. &nbsp;One, though, has been honed to an actual <b>skill</b>. &nbsp;That's right, I said it. &nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div>Life has a way of wearing you down. &nbsp;It smoothes the edges of your nerves, especially if you are a mother, or spend much time with adults who are *not* adults. &nbsp;Life numbs you to many things in life that by the time you are 50, you don't even think twice about anymore. &nbsp;</div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>"Oh, sweetie! &nbsp;It's okay if you missed the potty! &nbsp;I will just clean that right up. &nbsp;It happens to all of us. &nbsp;You still did good"............"Oh, you 'forgot' your homework for the 4th time this week and want me to just run home and bring it to you? &nbsp;All right, but this is the last time!"..............."You punched another hole in the wall?????!!!!! &nbsp;Well. &nbsp;You know how to fix it."............."Yes, that is a dent in my fender. &nbsp;Fix it? &nbsp;Why????"...........</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>I am seriously telling you to take heart. &nbsp;By the time you get to 50, I am promising you that you will take all of the above examples, and countless others, with a grain of salt but no second thoughts. &nbsp;It's very relaxing.</div><div><br /></div><div>But some things you will not become numb to. &nbsp;Some things will make you dig in your heels, stiffen your spine, grab a weapon and literally kill things. &nbsp;Living things. &nbsp;You will fight to the end, some things, and you will still lose, but you will. not. care. &nbsp;The battle simply must be fought.</div><div><br /></div>The flies are thick, and I realized the other day that I have turned into a cold blooded, vicious killer.<br /><div><br /></div><div>I always thought I could be one but now I know for sure that I not only *can*. &nbsp;I *am*.<br /><script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-22071187-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); </script><br /><div><br /></div><div>Like a professional cold blooded, vicious killer, I go on killing "patrols". &nbsp;At least 3 every day. &nbsp;Morning, noon, and night, I grab the fly swatter and stalk my prey down like the maggots they are. &nbsp;I stalk sunny places like window sills and splashes of sunlight on floors. &nbsp;One by one I kill them. &nbsp;I swear, some of them come back to life. &nbsp;I can remember a time when if there was a fly in the house it was just one or two, and I would grab a tissue to clean up their dead bodies and deposit them in the trash. &nbsp;Then I would go on with my life and think of such nastiness no more. &nbsp;THOSE DAYS ARE BEHIND ME NOW. &nbsp;I did not watch the clock or go on "killing patrols". &nbsp;Now I do. &nbsp;I guess that's part of being old, or grown up, or something. &nbsp;I am just reporting the facts here, I still do not know any secrets of the universe.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know if it's the cows or the beautiful but stinking tree next to the house that showered us recently with so many lovely petals, but the flies are everywhere, all the time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lately all I have grabbed is the fly swatter, no tissues, delivering death blows, like a professional cold blooded, vicious killer; without remorse. &nbsp; Then--(and this is probably the point of admitting you need help, for any cold blooded vicious killer, not that I need any help)---just letting their bodies lay where they fall.&nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div>&nbsp;I give them no respect. &nbsp;I think no more of their dead bodies than dust in the wind. &nbsp;Their dead bodies are nothing to me. &nbsp;NOTHING. &nbsp;I have a machine to suck up the carnage and I know how to use it. &nbsp;I am the proud owner of a shop vac also. &nbsp;I got this. Just the last part of the job for a cold blooded vicious killer like myself.</div><div><br /></div><div>***throws back head, throws arms to the sky, and laughs like James Earl Jones***&nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div>Like any professional, cold blooded, vicious killer, &nbsp;later there will be a cleanup patrol, destroying all evidence.&nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div>Like a professional, cold blooded, vicious killer, after I have chased down and killed all my prey, delivering death blows right and left, I just grab the vacuum and suck them up. &nbsp;There are quite a lot, and, horror of horrors(!), some are not completely dead. &nbsp;You can tell when they sense the snout of the great vacuum-to-the-sky getting close. &nbsp;They twitch, their disgusting little legs move. &nbsp;I sneer at the quivering little blobs. &nbsp;Perhaps I just stunned them, or broke a wing or something. &nbsp;The little vermin still live. &nbsp;So I SMASH them once more, really good. &nbsp;Their guts smoosh all out and leave disgusting marks on my refrigerator and all I feel is powerful and happy that I have bleach. &nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div>And I <b>am</b> a cold blooded, vicious killer. &nbsp;Life has turned me that way. &nbsp;I have no remorse. &nbsp;I even take pride in my work. &nbsp;Knowing that this job will not end any time soon does not discourage me. &nbsp;It's just what I do.</div><div><br /></div><div>Just one more facet to 50. &nbsp;Thought you should know.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>**also my cousin says that I can go to the feed store and get an automatic fly killer spray thing that automatically squirts like those automatic kind and I will not see a live fly again in my house. &nbsp;Sounds like a fairy tale, doesn't it? &nbsp;I am going to explore this possibility. &nbsp;You may want to explore that possibility yourself, before you end up a cold blooded, vicious killer like myself. &nbsp;But that may be a required standard that you have to pass before you die. &nbsp;I feel better for it, at any rate. &nbsp; Just sayin.</div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/bz8lZm8eFPg" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/04/turns-out-i-am-cold-blooded-vicious.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-12632644021735426122015-04-06T11:01:00.000-05:002015-04-06T11:01:03.085-05:00Reflections on 50.........<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I think back on the last year and all the changes it has brought. &nbsp;We moved, new jobs, new friends, new vehicles.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The boys have 1 more year of high school, prom is coming up, they have become mechanics, or at least serious&nbsp;apprentices, and they walk more like men than boys now.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I am a grandmother for real now.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Children are such handy gauges for us to measure life with, and I have recently found myself in long conversations with all of my children, (both real and acquired) that started with "Remember when......." and went on and on.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I used to feel I was drowning in children when my house was full of them and they spilled over into the yard and trailed up the street.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Life comes in waves, and eventually you realize you are the beach.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">This beach is watching another wave on the horizon, there are more children in it, among other things that I cannot make out for certain, but I can't wait for those days of love, simplicity and noise to pound on me again. &nbsp;The things they say, the things they remember, the things they will not listen to and have to learn anyway.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I think this last year has been a time for me to heal in ways I did not know that I needed to. &nbsp;Life has slowed down and I have had time to be present in the last years that I will have "children" at home.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">During this time my older children have become fully grown adults, and are now able to marvel that "19 years ago......." and fill in the blank with what seems like just a few months ago.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I can't tell you how great this has been, to be present as they got to this place!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">This tree, next to my new house, is I believe a grandfather to the nicely shaped but sickeningly scented Bradford Pears that are everywhere now. &nbsp;It doesn't have the pretty shape, and I think has much deeper roots, but the blooms are the same. &nbsp;The berries in the fall are different. &nbsp;We have been wondering what kind of tree it is and almost cut it down.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">It has taken us this long to figure it out.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">It has been glorious to look at and horrible to smell the past few weeks.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Flies buzz like crazy in this tree during blooming.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's kind of scary when you sit and listen to them.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I didn't know why we let it live until last week.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BAD0QAI9Po0/VR6yw_nx4rI/AAAAAAAACgA/unIHNeiGxK8/s1600/petalsstrewnpathgrandmother.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BAD0QAI9Po0/VR6yw_nx4rI/AAAAAAAACgA/unIHNeiGxK8/s1600/petalsstrewnpathgrandmother.jpg" height="640" width="634" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">She's old. &nbsp;She still looks great but smells terrible. &nbsp;But that's the way nature designed her.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Last week, with all the rain and wind, she started losing her petals.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Everywhere we went, we had petals blowing around, landing on us like confetti.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Everywhere we turned, our paths were strewn with petals.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I felt kind of like a bride, but knowing all the things brides still have yet to know, and I laughed out loud.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The petals did not smell bad, just looked pretty.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">And I thought it a charming addition, despite the buzzing of the flies.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>That</i> is how charming I found it.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">And I thought that I was definitely following a path, even if I did not know where it would lead, and that it was good and right.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rxwWdtpkpM8/VR6y88i44_I/AAAAAAAACgI/7cu-CZSWvYk/s1600/petalstrewnpath2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rxwWdtpkpM8/VR6y88i44_I/AAAAAAAACgI/7cu-CZSWvYk/s1600/petalstrewnpath2.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We have been confetti'd, every way we turn.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's made for a magical time. &nbsp;One day it's cold and rainy, we can hear the rain beating down on the roof as we watch the fire.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TGrzgp4-a8M/VR6xyGMgD1I/AAAAAAAACfg/Sx1-51rXH5U/s1600/petalshower4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TGrzgp4-a8M/VR6xyGMgD1I/AAAAAAAACfg/Sx1-51rXH5U/s1600/petalshower4.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">White stuff in your hair? &nbsp;NOT dandruff!! &nbsp;Look closely and you will see petals in the air.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The next day it's warm and sunny, you open the door to go out and white petals are cascading down and blowing around in little eddies on the wind. &nbsp;They land in your hair, brush against your eyelids, sit on your shoulders, get stuck in your hair, and have lined the path you are about to embark on.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">No matter which way you go.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">It occurs to me that which path you take matters naught; it is the going that matters.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I have the strong feeling all paths lead to the same place in the end.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2ip4tDc_z1k/VR6yYUr_5YI/AAAAAAAACfw/nlieBIKnOc8/s1600/petalshowergrandmotherleavingout.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2ip4tDc_z1k/VR6yYUr_5YI/AAAAAAAACfw/nlieBIKnOc8/s1600/petalshowergrandmotherleavingout.jpg" height="640" width="472" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">More leaves than petals this week.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">That tree is going to live.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">As must I.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Not to mention an entire new generation of little girls (so far) that have need of magical petal floating in the air and lining their paths. No matter which one they take.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I think I may have been appointed as one of the ladies that points these things out, and sets up tea parties on the lawn.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">With umbrellas, and matching rubber rain boots.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">This lady may have gray hair, and a long braid. &nbsp;</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">This is about all that I need to decide on in the near future.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aON4uzWzk6o/VR6yfV7U1iI/AAAAAAAACf4/Y2niIK1MVx4/s1600/petalshower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aON4uzWzk6o/VR6yfV7U1iI/AAAAAAAACf4/Y2niIK1MVx4/s1600/petalshower.jpg" height="640" width="330" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A slightly better shot of the floating petals.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Everywhere you go, everything has been festooned with petals.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The bulbs are blooming gloriously.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I need to decide what to put in that hanging, petaled, pot.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">But not today. &nbsp;There is no hurry.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NZr_4cCvlsk/VR6zKVfIMQI/AAAAAAAACgQ/51EsLGRNzrU/s1600/petalsbasket2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NZr_4cCvlsk/VR6zKVfIMQI/AAAAAAAACgQ/51EsLGRNzrU/s1600/petalsbasket2.jpg" height="604" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">White has been added to all the colors, in polka dot shapes</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I think it is healing all of us to be here. &nbsp;We have different family closer, now, and can just run into them, which we are getting used to.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">And while we have been very busy, we haven't been tied to rigid schedules.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">This has allowed room for trying new things without the stress of whether these things will work out or not.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">In a fit of hopefullness, I threw an onion and some garlic that had sprouted in my refrigerator in pots this week and set them outside.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2CyGhMT_PnU/VR6zX4UhJ2I/AAAAAAAACgY/XNgH2bW3aEM/s1600/oniontransplant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2CyGhMT_PnU/VR6zX4UhJ2I/AAAAAAAACgY/XNgH2bW3aEM/s1600/oniontransplant.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Well, hello onions!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">And just look what happened!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I didn't even try.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes things just work out.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">No one knows why, they just do.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bP5gcPQFyvk/VR6zu7T8jfI/AAAAAAAACgw/TQQ3VZXDl_M/s1600/tulipsup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bP5gcPQFyvk/VR6zu7T8jfI/AAAAAAAACgw/TQQ3VZXDl_M/s1600/tulipsup.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Tulips on deck!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;">The tulips are getting dressed for the show they will put on very soon, and just like at the other house, I have a white lilac in front and a purple lilac in back. &nbsp;This may sound crazy to you, but those were 2 of the things I loved most about that house, and the&nbsp;symmetry&nbsp;here is comforting and feels right to me.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">One more day of sunshine and BAM! &nbsp;We are going to have lilacs!!</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I had to give up a lot, but none the most important things to me have been lost. &nbsp;What I have gotten in return is so vital and precious to me that I cannot not put it into words and pictures do not do it justice.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">The other morning was so nice I just had to run down the road and be by the water. &nbsp;Water runs freely though out the land of Lindy <a href="http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/02/and-i-know-he-watches-me.html" target="_blank">and white feathers</a>, cascading, trickling, sometimes roaring, but always, always present and moving, the sun shining off the smallest of ripples. &nbsp;The flowers were blooming, the grass was so green, and there just comes a certain day, I remember from when I was small, that you are compelled to get out and "smell the creek".</span><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ELr0dRpI85s/VSKio0f2ZeI/AAAAAAAACp0/b3mUBbNKVnE/s1600/springhassprung.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ELr0dRpI85s/VSKio0f2ZeI/AAAAAAAACp0/b3mUBbNKVnE/s1600/springhassprung.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>"He maketh me lie down in green pastures..........<br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">It's not an elegant phrase, but it's the bottom line way I thought of it as a child, at my most basic and honest self.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">In those days, part of almost every day was spent at a creek. &nbsp;With rock bottoms, endless jewels to be discovered and sorted. &nbsp;Tadpoles to be watched and sometimes caught. &nbsp;Crawdad's to have sword fights with once you discovered their hole. &nbsp;Small fish nibbling on your toes, turtles sunning themselves in the heat of the sun, and the only lotion slathered on us was sun "tan", not sun "block".</span><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7h9Gpca1bJ0/VSKiyIdfLpI/AAAAAAAACp8/QbA936Utpps/s1600/notsostillwaters.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7h9Gpca1bJ0/VSKiyIdfLpI/AAAAAAAACp8/QbA936Utpps/s1600/notsostillwaters.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>He leadeth me beside the still waters......<br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">You see it, you hear it, you feel it, you smell it.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">It surrounds you, in every way, and everywhere you look, everything is just right with the world.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">There's no other way to put it. &nbsp;There are no clocks here, the sun and the moon keep the time.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Time goes slowly, and you breathe easy.</span></div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WEj3g3LHvyI/VSKi2zR1x8I/AAAAAAAACqE/NLcWHG40uuM/s1600/thebeach2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WEj3g3LHvyI/VSKi2zR1x8I/AAAAAAAACqE/NLcWHG40uuM/s1600/thebeach2.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">I have spent years of my life sitting on a beach just like this. &nbsp;I am so blessed.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">As I turn 50, I find myself recognizing that most basic and honest self more and more often.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's been a long time since I have seen her.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The person I was long before I became an adult or parent. &nbsp;My hair is back to what it was before I spent countless hours and dollars to make it look like something it, in fact, was not.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The things that are most important to me cannot be bought with money.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Words get in the way of instinctive understanding. &nbsp;Can you remember a time when &nbsp;your thoughts were not formed in words in your head, let alone complete sentences?</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PlqQ5NZRYMk/VSKi82I-QZI/AAAAAAAACqM/KosIN55vIj4/s1600/stillwaters2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PlqQ5NZRYMk/VSKi82I-QZI/AAAAAAAACqM/KosIN55vIj4/s1600/stillwaters2.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">He restoreth my soul........</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">If you can't, you should go back to the places where you were very young.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Or maybe you have to get to be a certain age before you will remember that part.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Life asks a lot of us, at different times, and in different ways.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">But it's always in flux, whether you realize it or not.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Eventually, your children grow and have lives of their own.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">You love them more than ever, and they bring you joy in ways you never expected.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">But now you get your solitude back. Time to dream, time to consider, time to plan, again.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Time to think, or work, or just "be", without interruption or distraction.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I think this is part of the design.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WxyYZWV8cuE/VSKjUlK66rI/AAAAAAAACqU/z_O7kw8nhtc/s1600/forsythiasunlight2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WxyYZWV8cuE/VSKjUlK66rI/AAAAAAAACqU/z_O7kw8nhtc/s1600/forsythiasunlight2.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Sunlight on just one branch of a huge and beautiful bush. &nbsp;See what I did there??</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Life is always taken one day at a time, whatever phase we are in.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">But I have reached the age where I watch calmly for what comes next and take it in stride.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Gone are the days where I ran around, anxious to please, fearful of disapproval, worried about how it would all turn out.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Been there, done that. &nbsp;It's over. &nbsp;It was fun but it's over.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The next phase of my life will be much calmer and more joyful.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Whatever it is. &nbsp;I'm going to just appreciate whatever it is.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's a surprise!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I'm just going to enjoy every day and watch it all unfold, like the grass and the bulbs and the babies.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Everything has it's own path, design, and journey.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I already know it will turn out.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">It always does.</span></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/I_XierndM8A" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/04/reflections-on-50.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7242561807476129486.post-3538165903189244502015-04-04T11:00:00.001-05:002015-04-04T11:00:51.898-05:00A Day of Chores............<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Everything outside is jumping, and that means lawn mowing time is upon us.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Last week my dad came over to change the oil in the lawn mower and sharpen the blades. &nbsp;It seemed like a pretty easy task. &nbsp;He showed up in the morning, when the twins were at school, and assured me that he needed no help.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">He did not need help, but I almost had a nervous breakdown watching him wench up the mower with chains over the rafters of the garage. &nbsp;Everything went smoothly except for me having visions of it falling on him and him lying helpless on the floor, slowly dying while I run around trying to decide what to do and who to call.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">None of that happened. &nbsp;He worked on the mower and I painted woodwork for trim on the back porch, where I could hear him if he should call for help. &nbsp;He didn't call.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">What he did do, once he got the mower all wenched up in the garage, was take a walk outside to the front of the house.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">You have no doubt heard me talk about how my mother cleaned house. &nbsp;Her method was to decide to clean something, say the buffet. &nbsp;She would drag everything out of all the drawers, dust the top, and then spend about 4 hours going through everything in the drawers and "organizing". &nbsp;After 4 hours, she would suddenly remember what time it was and shove everything back into the drawers. &nbsp;For next time. &nbsp;Now, she could have just dusted the top. &nbsp;In about 2 minutes, but that was not her method.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I have discovered that I do not just get this kind of method from 1 side of my&nbsp;genealogical tree. &nbsp;Although at least my dad finishes what he starts.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Even if it takes all day.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Once in front of the house, he declared it to be a good day to take out the shrubs in the front of the house. &nbsp;We all hate these shrubs, including the neighbors. &nbsp;Luckily for us, the neighbors, my aunt that I never had, Janine, and her husband Jack, have the cutest little red tractor, and they had it out this day.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yE-AoOAlWJs/VR607EshmdI/AAAAAAAAChA/VKDg5jT4c6s/s1600/shrubslasthour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yE-AoOAlWJs/VR607EshmdI/AAAAAAAAChA/VKDg5jT4c6s/s1600/shrubslasthour.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-22071187-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); </script>Shrubs: begone!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jack was hailed, he reported for duty forthwith, chains were rounded up and the shrubs were tackled in a death grip.</span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q-V4C32THl4/VR61FNUF0KI/AAAAAAAAChI/2Gi9S6eFTL4/s1600/shrubsworkingmen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q-V4C32THl4/VR61FNUF0KI/AAAAAAAAChI/2Gi9S6eFTL4/s1600/shrubsworkingmen.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">It's a good day to die, shrubs.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Although the pictures do not show it, I helped my dad plunge into dead leaves, wasp nests, and possible snake lairs to attach the chains. &nbsp;Sometimes 2 chains were needed, and multiple scratches were acquired by both of us, but eventually those shrubs came out.</span></div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dMQcLK13qXw/VR61ON3_6sI/AAAAAAAAChQ/A9hagoPh128/s1600/shrubsgoing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dMQcLK13qXw/VR61ON3_6sI/AAAAAAAAChQ/A9hagoPh128/s1600/shrubsgoing.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Goodbye, cruel world.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">By the time we were half-way done, I noticed that it was really hot outside and remembered that I think I forgot to put on&nbsp;deodorant&nbsp;that day. &nbsp;My father assured me this would only give the snakes more time to get out of the way. &nbsp;We did not see any snakes, but we did spend many hours on the look out. &nbsp;I do not mind if I see them first, however, my father does a dance that few have seen and that defies actual description when he spies a snake.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I worried about him throwing his back out, and to be honest, how many times he could actually keep getting up and down in a day. &nbsp;I didn't know about him, but it was about to kill me, and I'm younger. &nbsp;Just saying.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j340msHF0fQ/VR61cmm4OGI/AAAAAAAAChY/9W8qn6kFVC4/s1600/shrubshalfwaygone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j340msHF0fQ/VR61cmm4OGI/AAAAAAAAChY/9W8qn6kFVC4/s1600/shrubshalfwaygone.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Half-way there. &nbsp;Keep on trucking.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">We plugged along with the shrubs coming out pretty easy, once we got them hooked up. &nbsp;The hooking up was the hard part.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Once out, it was around the back to the brush pile. &nbsp;We had plenty of limbs but these shrubs would make good fire starter material once they dried out.</span></div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IZq54ycedmM/VR61lgaGlMI/AAAAAAAAChg/fIjYfBhQ28I/s1600/shrubstobrushpile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IZq54ycedmM/VR61lgaGlMI/AAAAAAAAChg/fIjYfBhQ28I/s1600/shrubstobrushpile.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Note to self: buy hot dogs and buns.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">There is a very big bonfire in our near future. &nbsp;Yes, that is my back yard, and we need to mow it. &nbsp;There is quite a large area under lots of limbs and now shrubs that we cannot at this moment get to, but it will be all burned off within a few weeks. &nbsp; A fresh start. &nbsp;Also, strangely, the dogs have dug a hole big enough to plant a small tree in the back yard. &nbsp;I am at a loss as to why they stuck with this particular hole, because they have never showed such dedication before. &nbsp;But this is big. &nbsp;I think a Willow would be just perfect, but them again maybe just a large bush........well, I don't have to decide right now. &nbsp;But soon. &nbsp;My list is getting longer and it's all still in my head. &nbsp;I haven't even written it down yet.....</span></div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ium9nXadGBU/VR611XN1b7I/AAAAAAAACho/IolDwSn8whc/s1600/shrubsbegone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ium9nXadGBU/VR611XN1b7I/AAAAAAAACho/IolDwSn8whc/s1600/shrubsbegone.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">All gone.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">By the time the twins came home from school, the shrubs were out, the mower was still wenched to the rafter in the garage, and my dad decided it would be a great time to run the old water heater to the metal recycling center. &nbsp;To get that out of the way. &nbsp;Into town they went.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I stood there, observing the bare but messy ground, and my mind was filled with what to put in there. &nbsp;Four O'Clock's for sure, more bulbs, perhaps a trellis and something to climb up it. &nbsp;Vegetables? &nbsp;I have those tubs my brother cut up for me......This faces East, blah, blah, blah.......I don't have time for this! &nbsp;This entire day has been spent and I haven't really done any of my work! &nbsp;Best to just walk away and see what happens. &nbsp;I get it from both my parents. &nbsp;It's the way God made me............enough of this, I was wasting time.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I looked at the clock. &nbsp;It was 4 pm. &nbsp;I started to warm something up because I had not eaten that entire day, and I was pretty sure my dad hadn't either. &nbsp;I also needed to think about supper. &nbsp;</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I warmed up chicken and noodles and mashed potatoes. &nbsp;My dad showed back up and took in to sharpening blades. &nbsp;I worried about him cutting himself and bleeding to death, (doesn't he take a blood thinner?) and made him eat something. Yes, made him. &nbsp;When I asked him if he was hungry he said yes, but he wasn't going to eat because Geri was making supper. &nbsp;Well, of COURSE she was! &nbsp;It was 4:30 in the afternoon by now! &nbsp;I used my "tone" to point out that he hadn't eaten all day and it was ready, so he agreed to a small bowl of noodles. &nbsp;And appetizer, if you will. &nbsp;The boys never had come back and at this point I really didn't care if they ever did. &nbsp;I was exhausted and too tired to really make supper.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Eventually, about 6 hours after the initial job was started, all the jobs were finished. &nbsp;I was so happy! &nbsp;I collapsed on the back porch and what did I see but Janine and Jack over there---get this----cleaning out the gutters on their house. &nbsp;OCH! &nbsp;I hadn't even considered that, and hope to our sweet Lord that my father hasn't either. &nbsp;I had to marvel at their strength, not to mention wonder where it came from. &nbsp;I thanked God again for such wonderful neighbors. &nbsp;This led to me wondering if my dad would even be able to get out of bed the next day. &nbsp;I chuckled, remembering how he kept looking at me when I would offer to help or express concern over his ability to lay on concrete multiple times in one day. &nbsp;I doubted he would be back tomorrow.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">In the end the boys did come home, I did feed them.....something, &nbsp;I can't even remember what, all the jobs were finished, and nobody got hurt. &nbsp;I told myself I was just obsessing, or being pessimistic, but the voice in my head just said "We'll see". &nbsp;</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">In a cryptic tone.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">That voice is beginning to get on my last nerve.</span></div></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LaceYourDaysWithHope/~4/EHvAE5uKPqw" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>Melinda Fischerhttps://plus.google.com/115875981588633567978noreply@blogger.com0http://laceyourdayswithhope.blogspot.com/2015/04/a-day-of-chores.html